


Zenana

by Aragem



Series: Hope, Faith, and Love [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/F, F/M, Harems, M/M, Mind Control, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-03-26 23:12:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 70,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aragem/pseuds/Aragem
Summary: A direct sequel to Bridget: What Came Before.  An anthology of stories about Bridget's time in Zenana.Bridget, still suffering from the loss of her husband and son, is given no time to grieve as she is thrust into the bowls of Zenana, a R&R station that caters to the Galra Elite.  Takor's betrayal still fresh, she refuses to trust anyone but herself to escape Zenana and return to Earth to her son.  Despite her belief that all Galra cannot be trusted, she finds an unlikely ally in Ulaz who teaches Bridget her place in Zenana could be used as a weapon against the Empire.





	1. Welcome to Zenana

**Imperial Central Hub Login**

**Login Successful**

**Password Required for Zenana Central**

**Password Accepted**

**Welcome User : Dr. Brin Zo’cared, Zenana Medical Advisor**

**Message Incoming from System Kovia**

**Message Accepted**

**Subject Tag: Potential**

**Message Body:** Female Terran aka Human. Young Adult, experienced with sexual interaction, arrested on Planet Earth. Citizenship status revoked, applicable for Zenana. Images attached in file upload.

**Incoming file . . . Accept/Decline ?**

**Accepted**

**Downloading . . .**

**Complete**

**Request for Human Physiology information sent**

**Request sent for Human Sexology**

**ICM Requested from User Mme Floentha**

**ICM Accepted**

**MF:** Have you read the file?

**BZ:** Yes. I finished reading when you pinged me.

**MF:** Impressions?

**BZ:** Looks healthy. I’ll have to conduct a full exam to be sure, but what I see looks good.

**MF:** I’ve been hearing about the popularity of the females from this planet. Even had some requests for one. Not surprising as its the same species as the games’ Champion.

**BZ:** I requested information for human physiology and sexology. I will compile the information by the time she arrives

**MF:** How do you know I was willing to consider the female?

**BZ:** Because you contacted me.

**MF:** Fair enough.

* * *

Brin Zo’cared’s vision was beginning to blur again. He was overdue for another vision correction, but it was hard to find time for it. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, easing the pressure behind his eyes. A cup of Roosium tea was still warm to the touch and he drank the rest before setting it aside for his assistant to collect later.

He checked the files on his tablet and references list and once he was satisfied he had what he needed, he rose from his desk and handed it to his assistant Clari. She was a pretty Galra female with fur different shades of soft blue. Her hair was trimmed short around her ears ears with a single braid that tapped her cheek bone when she moved her head. Like him, she wore the science and medical uniform with the sarong from the hips to the knees. Their boots echoed down the hall towards the hangar.

Clari walked with an almost skip in her step, her excitement of seeing a new alien species tangible. Technically, it wasn’t a new species, as the female shared the same race as the Champion, but this would be their first time seeing a human first hand. The information they had on the Champion was helpful, but female physiology had been lacking. Thankfully, the human race was advance enough to have created their own in-depth studies of their bodies uploaded to their planet wide info-net. The data would be helpful, but Brin always preferred to study a subject with his own eyes and tools.  There was likely holes in the information provided by a primitive race, especially one that had only just developed basic space flight.  However, he discovered the human information regarding sexuality was very conflicting. It was like humans couldn’t keep their opinions and misconceptions out of their findings. 

Madame Floentha was waiting in the hangar bay, wrapped in rich puce silks with sentries and her own assistant; a young Galra girl with large gold hoops hanging from her low hanging ears. A long tail extended from between her legs, the tip twitching idly with boredom. Like her mistress, she wore a silk dressed, but pink and cut short to allow her to hastily carry out errands and tasks.

The Madame nodded at Brin in welcome before lamenting her role, “I hope this is worth my time. I have so much work left unattended right now.”

Brin didn’t comment. Madame Floentha was there to only give the female a cursory look and then decide whether to accept her into Zenana or not. If Floentha rejected the female, then she could be taken to the arenas, the labs, or even given as a token of goodwill to a high ranking officer. Or to the Druids if they make such a claim. If she was accepted, then it would be more work on his plate.

Brin brought up an image of the female in question on his tablet.  Like the Champion, she had no fur or claws, she stood several inches shorter than the Champion with long wavy red hair. Whereas the Champion had a hard look with a muscular frame from his years in the arena, she had a softer, delicate appearance.

“She better be worth all this time I’m wasting,” Madame Floentha bemoaned again, after being quiet without voice her opinions for too long. “I am going to be quite flustered if this is all for nothing.”

_ More like outraged and slighted, _ Brin thought. Having worked with Madame Floentha for many years, he was accustomed to her cavalier attitude towards anything that took her from her office or sycophantically entertaining the Elites.

Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait much longer as a shuttle began docking.  Once the passenger doors were opened, they filed inside.  The interior lights were dimmed and Brin’s blurry vision adjusted to see a slight figure curled up like a sleeping cub across the seats with her head on the recruits lap. Masses of red hair hid her face and spilling over the guard’s knees. He was stroking her hair in long caresses, the clawed finger tips lifting the red curls and letting them fall in coppery waves.

When the recruit saw them, he rubbed a pale arm, whispering alien words to her. The head raised, and she whimpered in a soft protest, but she stood with him. She was small and thin, her head barely reaching the bottom of the guard’s chest. Her eyes were glazed, a telltale of being under the effects of a calmative drug and that concerned Brin. It wasn’t the first time a potential was sent to them drugged, but it usually meant the subject was prone to violence and resistance and those subjects could be quite troublesome and needed extra handling.

“She looks like an Altean,” Madame Floentha’s assistant said delighted.

Alteans, the beautiful race of diplomats, philosophers, and scientists, long ago struck down for their treachery against the Emperor, were now the subjects of myths and fantasies. The assistant was correct, the female did have the appearance of an Altean, save for the lack of facial markings and shorter, rounder ears. And a human’s lifespan was only the fraction of an Altean’s, even that of a Galra. From the corner of his eye, Brin could see Madame Floentha taking in the comparison and designing fashion and apparel to enforce the similarity.

The female was wearing loose fitting pants and a top that left her arms bare. She wore no shoes, her feet narrow with round blunt nails. Brin observed the injuries with displeasure; one side of her face carried nearly faded bruises, long scratches on the left arm ran from the shoulder to elbow, and on her right hand was a wrist brace.

“What is this?” Madame Floentha’s eyes flashed. Her anger wasn’t out of concern for the female, but out of fear that she wouldn’t be up to par with stringent expectations. Like a farmer receiving a lame horse when he needed one to pull his plow.

The guard had mismatched eyes, one orange and the other white, and both of them were flicking between the human and Madame Floentha. “She sustained injuries when she was arrested.”

“Why was she arrested?” Brin inquired. If this female had a tendency for violence, then that would weigh heavily on whether she left the shuttle or not. More than once, female warriors had been brought as potentials and each time they had turned out disastrous as they showed a stronger will against the indoctrination and took out their frustrations on the other subjects.

“Fleeing with an escaped slave,” the recruit said tersely.

Brin asked, “Why is she drugged?”

The recruit barely restrained an annoyed twitch of his ears. “She was afraid.”

From the files, Brin remembered the recruit’s name was Takor. He had served as part of the peacekeeping wave after the Earth had been brought under Imperial control. It wasn’t unusual to get new recruits, but usually they were brought in from within the Heart of the Empire. Why transfer someone from so far away? It wasn’t his business, it was Madame Floentha who managed Zenana’s security and staff. His job was to treat the courtesans and keep them functioning.

Madame Floentha eyed the female calculatingly. Then she spoke to her assistant, “Sabrine, undress her.”

Sabrine approached tentatively, her hooped earrings swinging slowly as she drew the pants down the female’s legs and undid the buttons at the front revealing smooth, hairless skin and small, round breasts. Madame’s Floentha’s eyes narrowed unhappily at the faded bruises on the legs and thin lacerations on the thighs. Even Brin found himself eyeing the half healed injuries warily. They resulted from something more than just an arrest.

Brin began to suspect that any moment Madame Floentha would turn away and dismiss the female. But then, perhaps, she saw something he didn’t see or maybe the requests for a human courtesan had been numerous, but she didn’t turn away, yet. She stepped forward, touching the smooth skin at the shoulder, examining and testing the softness and elasticity, then lift the hair and rub it between a thumb and finger.

Brin took this as his cue to begin. He took the medical scanner from his belt and switch it on. Clari raised the datapad, her talons poised to access any information he needed. Other than the injuries, she was healthy. He would need to run a full comprehensive blood test to rule out disease, but she seemed fine. Her skin had good coloring despite the bruises and her eyes reacted correctly when he shined a light in them. Her drug induced stupor had her staring at them with slow blinks of watery green eyes.

More tests would need to be run, but right now she passed his initial standards of health, however Madame Floentha was taking longer in her examination. Her assistant had become embolden and was toying with the coppery curls, arranging it into different styles. Long hair was rare in other species, most having either little to no hair, or head tails instead. Alteans had been the ones with long gorgeous hair before they were wiped out long ago.

Madame Floentha passed her nails across the woman’s chest, near her right breast. The pink marks left behind glowed hotly against the pain skin.  The female flinched slightly, betraying the first bit of emotion since their arrival.  And sensitive too.  Just that alone made her good potential as a sexual partner for a Galra.      

Once he sent the data collected from his scanner to Clari, he allowed himself to study the female not with a medical official's eyes, but as a Galra male She was attractive, but small and fragile. She couldn’t be handed to a Galra who wasn’t willing to be gentle and he would have to examine her to see how accommodating she would be for a large male. Her hair, a rich coppery color, hung down her shoulders in curled rivulets, once Sabrine stopped toying with it. Her skin was marked with an occasional speck, or as the humans called them, freckles. He drew a hand down her back towards the firm buttocks there. His own claws drew little white marks on the firm globe. Her nipples were tight round nubs, perhaps from being exposed to the cool air of the shuttle air or in reaction to being seen nude. He wasn’t certain if her drug hazed mind had caught up with the fact she was being examined naked. And he wondered if she would start to resist when it did.

“Brin, I want a thorough examination. And I want these injuries gone as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Madame,” Brin said, relieved to finally get to work.

* * *

Brin had the female taken to a cell until the drug left her system. If she was a trouble maker or violent, then it was better to discover it now rather than later. Unlike the cells in the arena’s slave pits, the room was circular with cushioned walls and plush floor. The room was designed with soft blues and shades of violets while a audio system played a soothing melody to instill a sense of calm in the occupant. The rooms were designed to prevent the potentials from harming themselves while being processed.

When the door hissed open, she was huddled in the corner weeping and trembling. Takor, who could speak her native tongue, was sent in first to collect her. The way Brin saw it, if this whole thing could be done with little to no incident, the better it would be for all parties. Takor was speaking quietly to her in the quiet whispers. The female spoke back in broken sobs and Takor coaxed her to go with him. They came out with his hand on her shoulder, guiding her from the cell. She was clutching her braced wrist to her chest, almost hovering over it protectively. She stared at them with reddened wide eyes as if stunned she was here. The fear was evident in her eyes, but along with it utter sadness.

Waiting inside the exam room was a senior surgeon who had experience with the Champion’s biology. He was a tall Galra with violet skin and a thin white face. Along his scalp was white markings with a white strip of hair along the center. He was arranging the equipment in the slow deliberate movements of a skilled surgeon when they came in. A second guard was there as was protocol when dealing with non-Galra patients. The female was brought in a tight ring of Takor, Brin, and Clari to deter any potential escape attempts, but she went quietly, her eyes looking around like a disturbed animal. Takor took her to the table and helped her onto it. Then they began.

Blood was drawn, her mouth and teeth checked, and then her hearing and vision tested. He noted the female was taking it all in stride, not speaking, nervous, but calm.  She cooperated with their gestures, holding out her arm for blood to be drawn, turning her face this and that, even following a finger with her eyes. Perhaps on her home planet she had experienced enough doctors’ visits to recognize the routine and found some comfort in it. He wondered if she understood why she was here or perhaps there were remnants of the mellowing drug in her system. Or she could just be a simpleton.

Clari began murmuring to the female in a soft singsong voice, praising her for being so good and still, even giving her pet name of Red. Brin pursed his lips, but said nothing. Clari was nearing that age where Galra females sought out mates to sire strong cubs. He wondered if her family were already seeking a potential husband?

The senior surgeon was silent in his examination of the broken wrist. Brin took the chance to watch his skilled fingers remove the brace and test the small bones with gentle manipulations of his fingers, using only the pads of his fingertips without the claw tips poking the skin. Even the female took notice of him, her green eyes watching, studying his face and hand movement.

Then came the final part of the exam; the part all the females found issue with, but necessary to check for any genital diseases and for case of vagina dentata (as some females of certain species have). Clari moved around to the foot of the table and pulled out the stirrups and began folding them up. The female had been so cooperative and quiet, they were unprepared for when she reacted. She may have came from a primitive race, but when she saw the stirrups, she not only recognized them and knew their purpose, but she wasn’t going to go along with any of it.

She began to weep and shake her head. Takor spoke to her, but she shook her head more vehemently and scooted off the table. Clari chimed in, speaking soothingly and petting her hair. The female jerked away and shoved away Takor’s hands when he tried to touch her.

Brin became impatient, “What’s wrong?”

“She doesn’t want you digging through her snatch,” Takor snapped. Brin couldn’t tell whether he was more irritated with the female not cooperating or at him for not realizing the obvious.

“Just get her on the table,” Brin muttered turning away to lubricate a speculum.

Seeing it must have broken her last nerve because she tried to run. Her bare feet slapped the floor as she sprinted for the door. Takor was faster, catching her arm before she had the chance to try the door panel. The door was locked, keyed to a Galra’s bio-metric signature, but that would haven’t have stopped her from trying. It never stopped them from trying to open locked doors.

She screamed, wrenching at his hands and bracing her feet against the floor to stop being towed. When that didn’t halt the progress to the table and stirrups, she grasped at a shelf and anchored herself to it with her good hand.

It took both Takor and the other guard to take pull her loose from her death grip on the shelf without causing her harm and even then she proved herself cumbersome despite her small size. She flailed, kicking and twisting in their grasp, several times they almost dropped her as they lifted her onto the table. The guard managed to wrangle her good hand onto the table and secure it with one of the straps on the table for such a situation as this. Takor leaned over her speaking soothingly in her language.

Then the female locked eyes with him and shrieked something that couldn’t be mistaken for nothing less than vulgarities, and spit in his face. Then before anyone could stop him, Takor slapped her. The female fell against the table limp so suddenly, Brin feared her neck had broken from the blow. Then what happened next was so fast he could still scarcely believed what he saw.

The surgeon, who had been monitoring equipment, moved in a blur of red and black. Takor’s wrist was grabbed and twisted around his back. He was wrenched away from the table and slammed against the wall with enough force to leave an impacted dent in the metal surface. The surgeon released Takor who slumped to the floor in a boneless heap.

“Get him out of here,” the surgeon ordered the guard staring in open mouth amazement.

As a dazed Takor was dragged out of the room, Clari checked the female’s pulse. “She’s alright, just stunned.”

“Then finish strapping her down before she comes around.”

They were able to secure her other arm and get the white pants off, before she began fighting back. She kicked with all her might, the table almost rocked from her efforts. Her foot caught his shoulder as he was sitting down to perform the exam. His patience at an end, he grabbed her ankle, uncaring if his claws caught the soft skin.

“Clari, get a sedative!”

“But we don’t know how her body will react to it,” Clari protested. “She might have a bad reaction or be allergic.”

“Then get her feet in the damn stirrups!”

It took the combined efforts of both Clari and the senior surgeon to grab her legs and hold them in place while the other tighten the strap there. The female still struggled, rattling the stirrups with desperate kicks.

Brin picked up a lubricated speculum and looked helpless at her quivering, wriggling, body, “I can’t do this with her moving about like that. We’ll have to risk it with a sedative.”

The senior doctor interjected, “Give me a few moments with her.”

Brin didn’t see how it could hurt and nodded his consent. The surgeon pulled a stool from the wall and sat down, leaning over the female’s face. With one hand, he motioned for Clari to hand him an antiseptic cloth he used to dab at the female’s tear stained cheeks and clean away the blood from her mouth. The female blinked warily at him.

Then he began speaking to her in the same language as Takor had done, shocking Brin. The female spoke back to him through sobs and sniffs. Her body was tense, shaking, but she wasn’t struggling anymore. The surgeon continue speaking to her in a low, solemn voice, brushing away any falling tear and even pushing hair from her face. Brin watched the exchange, his patience thinning until finally the senior surgeon turned raised his head.

“Go ahead, but be quick.”

Brin went forward with the exam. He had done this many times and the female’s body was easily to manipulate and exam. There were moments when she jumped and cried out only to be quietly shushed by the surgeon. When he finished, he tossed the speculum on the tray which Clari took away and picked up his scanner.

“Take her feet from the stirrups and keep her still, I need to run an abdominal scan,” he said stiffly.

Clari hurried to obey. She carefully undid the straps and the female didn’t kick, but she did snatch each freed leg from the stirrups and would have risen if the surgeon hadn’t stopped her with soft words and a hand at her shoulder. The female cooperated with the scan, even holding her shirt up as the scanner was passed over her stomach.

“Alright, I have what I need. Dress her and tend to her lip, then take her to a room and feed her. Tell Takor I want a word with him in my office.”

* * *

Brin saw no need for a big office. He only needed enough room for a large desk, a holo-screen to pull up high definition detail of scans. His desk was covered in reports and tablets, some of which were behind deadlines that he really should be working on, but this was more important at the moment.

He wished for tea to soothe the headache brewing behind his eyes, but Clari was busy with the female so he would have to do with self medicating with painkillers. He laid the datapad containing the female’s examination results on the desk, ready to be sent to Madame Floentha once he conducted this last bit of business. Takor was standing with his arms crossed, looking almost sullen. Brin didn’t offered him a seat as he didn’t wish for him to be too comfortable. He fixed him a penetrating look from behind his desk.

“I don’t like being taken for a fool, Takor,” he said evenly. “Much less than Madame Floentha. It was bad enough we weren’t informed of her injuries, but now it seems there’s more to her story than we were led to believe. If I had known then, what I believe I know now, I would have told Madame Floentha to save herself the trouble and send the female back.”

He noticed that Takor’s shoulders stiffened and continued, “I want the truth and if I think I’m getting less than full disclosure, you’ll be on the next shuttle out of here. Now, were you the one who raped her?”

Takor’s brows rose. “How . . . do you know . . .?”

“Please, don’t insult me. I’ve worked as medical adviser for Zenana for longer than you’ve been a soldier. Her genitals are bruised and her vaginal walls show almost healed tears and her rectum still has some swelling from rough penetration.”

Takor’s mouth set in a hard line. His orange and white eyes glared back at Brin. “It wasn’t me.”

_ But you wanted to. _ Brin remembered the tenderness the guard had stroked the female’s hair upon their arrival. So what brought on the sudden rage the female had for him? “So who did?”

“Why do you need to know?” Takor muttered sullenly, his ears almost laying low.

“She’s pregnant, or at least she was until she miscarried.”  He took pleasure in the shocked expression from Takor.  “I need a name to send the dead fetus to for Rites.” 

The abdominal scan showed the fetus was still inside the female and would have to be removed because it started cause adverse health.  It was a procedure he was not looking forward to after the way she reacted to a basic exam.  

Takor continued to glare at him silently, almost stubbornly. Brin noticed that it wasn’t him he was glaring at. Takor was staring at the wall behind him in deep, angry thought. Finally, he said, “Commander Prorok.”

Silence filled the room save for the tapping of Brin’s nails on the table. He cleared his throat, if only to buy time to arrange his thoughts. He had thought a low ranking soldier had been the one, not an actual Commander. “I take it the Commander wasn’t happy when Zenana requisition the female.”

“No, but he wasn’t about to piss of Zenana.”

Yes, Brin was certain that the Commander didn’t want the rumor mill Zenana can spin turned on him. Madame Floentha was particular about the courtesans she takes in, but even denying her a potential was enough to set her aflame with vengeance, even if the female was sub par. Though, it was a shame, if Commander Prorok had been less brutal the child could have lived and he would have had claimed on the female that even Zenana couldn’t overrule.

He dismissed the soldier and went back to work.  Eventually, Clari returned and made him his tea.

* * *

**Oh, God, dear, God, please stop this . . .please, please, please, stop this.**

**_You’re alright. What’s your name?_ **

**Br-Bridget Walsh . . .please, don’t do this.**

**_Bridget, we have to do this. You’ve had exams like this before on your planet, yes?_ **

**Y-yes . . .but . . .**

**_This will be no different. If you’ll be still, this will be over quickly._ **

**No . . .I can’t . . .I don’t want him touching me . . .**

**_Talk to me. It’ll take your mind off what he’s doing. Tell me about your family._ **

**I . . .I want to know if my baby is in Liverpool with my father. Can you find out? Can you find out if he made it to Liverpool?**

**_I can try. Tell me his name and how I can find him. Don’t pay attention to what he’s doing. Talk to me._ **

**H-his name is Connor. My father’s name is Liam Moore. He lives in Liverpool on Marsden St. In a blue house with a black roof. . . God, is he almost done?**

**_He will be soon. Do you have a mate?_ **

**M-my . . . my husband’s gone . . .**

**_I’ll ask something else. Do you know the name Shiro?_ **

**N-no . . .what is that?**

**_What about Takashi Shirogane?_ **

**It . . .it sounds familiar . . .I don’t know . . . is . . .is he done?**

**_Yes, he’s finished. You’ve done well._ **

**Thank you, Jesus . . .w-who are you?**

**_My name is Ulaz._ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr either my muse RP blog: rebelcourtesan  
> Or on my writing blog: gapspace


	2. Welcome to Zenana 2

He really needed to schedule an appointment for vision correction. The words and images on the screen kept blurring at the edges as he worked. He rubbed the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger and reached for the  _ Creal  _ coffee Clari set out for him before retiring to her quarters. It was lukewarm, but still carried the kick of caffeine he needed to keep awake.

He hadn’t slept in over 36 hours and he was nearing his record of no sleep at 40 hours. Still, he found it intriguing to working up an indoctrination program for a new species. If the human female proves to be as popular as Madame Floentha believed then this would be a very useful program to have and he had so much material to work with. Humans were very sexual creatures indeed. Almost nothing was taboo for them and he was shocked by the vast amount of information sent to his terminal, having to get an extra 100 petabyte drive to contain only a fraction of it all. Thankfully, he didn’t need all of it and took what would useful.

There was a soft chime at his door. He irritably stopped typing and waited for Clari to answer it, but then remembered she was off duty. Moaning at the interruption he pressed a button at the edge of his desk, “Yes?”

“I have an appointment with Brin Zo’cared.”

He recognized the voice as the senior surgeon that aided with the initial examination of the female. After quickly adjusting his uniform, he pressed a switch that unsealed the door. “Come in.  My apologies, I tend to work long hours and my assistant is currently off duty. Please forgive the mess.”

The surgeon stood nearly a head taller than him and walked with a smooth grace that could only be attained through years of martial arts training. Brin remembered how deftly and swiftly he had deposed of Takor during the examination. Brin, like all Galra students of the Empire, had underwent combat training in school, but he didn’t have the skill for it, not as he did for medical and xeno sciences. With his academic scores, he served a few years in xeno-bio warfare division until he was recruited by Zenana.

The surgeon took an offered chair while Brin collected coffee from a drink dispenser he had installed for when Clari wasn’t around to brew decent beverages. He handed the surgeon, Ulaz(he finally remembered the surgeon’s name), a cup of coffee. “Since we’re both busy professionals, I’ll get right to it. I want your aid with indoctrinating the human female.”

“Interesting,” Ulaz replied thoughtfully, folding long fingers around the cup. “I was going to make a request to work on the female with you. For my personal studies.”

“Oh?” Brin said interested.

“I’ve done work on the Champion, the male human from the arena matches, as you might recall.” At Brin’s nod, he continued, “Since their home planet became part of the Empire, there has been interest in how the humans could be incorporated to strengthen the Empire. They’re adaptive and resilient with creative minds and capable of astounding intellect, but they can be very resistant. The war on on their planet can attest to that.”

Brin nodded knowingly. He had seen the reports of casualties from X-Y-9 and it had taken the campaign months to finally claim the planet and even still there was numerous rebel cells causing problems for Peacekeepers. It wasn’t the first time a conquest met with resistance, but the humans kept the might of the Empire at bay for months and still snapped and hissed like a serpent beneath a heel.

Ulaz continued, “The Druids are interested in my research and it was a stroke of luck that I now have two humans at hand for my studies. Of course, I will provide you whatever aide you need on other subjects.”

Brin leaned forward intrigued. He had no idea the surgeon was working with the Druids. “Yes, well, I always welcome an extra pair of hands and you seemed to have this calming effect on her.” He lifted a stack of datapads and pulled the one he wanted and scooted it across the desk. “I must warn you that this is one will be challenge, not only because she’s a new species, but due to the trauma she experienced in Commander Prorok’s custody.”

Ulaz picked up the datapad and swiped to the top. “This is the indoctrination program?”

“Actually, it’s just the outline of it. I’ll send more to your terminal as I update it,” Brin said checking his terminal to make certain he had saved his progress, before continuing. “I’m removing the fetus tomorrow and I would like for you to be there to observe and keep the female calm throughout the procedure.”

“Very well, but I would suggest allowing me a few minutes alone with her first, after she has the nanite treatment. If she understands what you are doing, then she might not protest the procedure,” Ulaz inclined his head at Brin’s quizzical look. “We can finish quickly and you and I can review the program together.”

“Ah! Of course,” Brin said with understanding. With primitives, there were too many questions and most of them wouldn’t understand the explanation given. In Brin’s experience, the best thing is to get them on the table and go to work.

“Also,” Ulaz said slowly, likely in a show of not wanting to dictate how Brin should run his office. “I would strongly recommend that the Galra who escorted her, the one who struck her, not be there.”

“No worries there. He’s currently undergoing training in Zenana now and I have my own guards to assist. As much as I would like to continue talking with you, I’m afraid I have more work to do before I retire. Thank you for coming and I look forward to working with you.”

***

Two hours later, Brin finally retired to his quarters and slept three hours before waking, tossing back a coffee along with a stimulant capsule, he resumed work until it was time for the procedure. He had two guards on standby in case the female resisted as before and had Clari prepare a sedative.

To his surprise, the female walked ahead of Ulaz into the operating room, wide eyed and afraid, but showing no sign of fight or flight. She stayed closed to Ulaz, yet just out of his reach. Her eyes flitted from Brin, the guards, and to the table where the stirrups were unfolded and she visibly shuddered.

Ulaz motioned to the table and uttered some words in her language which Brin could assume meant get on the table as the female approached the table, staring cautiously at himself and Clari. She hesitated at it, her hands on the surface. Ulaz said a few words and she climbed up onto it.

Letting out a breath he had been holding, Brin nodded to Clari who began prepping the female. The female stayed very still and taut while she was restrained to the table, her pants removed, and her legs lifted into the stirrups. She stared at the ceiling with watery eyes and turned them to Ulaz when he stepped up to her side.

“She’s ready. You can start now.”

***

**How long will this take?**

**_Ten minutes, possible more. I’m going to give you a sedative._ **

**No! I don’t want to sleep!**

**_You won’t sleep; it’ll only help you relax and be still so he doesn’t injure you._ **

**I don’t want to be strapped down either.**

**_I have no control over that. Just bear with it._ **

**What’s going to happen to me?**

**_I told you. We’re removing your deceased child . . .”_ **

**No! It’s not mine! It’s** **_his_ ** **. I hope you mail the damn thing back to him!**

**_Shhh, we’ll talk about something else._ **

**What’s going to happen to me after you remove the fetus?**

**_Tell me about your baby. What was his name?_ **

**His name is Connor. He has dark hair and blue eyes. He can . . .he can say a few words and walk. I taught him how to wave and blow kisses . . . Ah! I can’t feel my legs!**

**_Don’t panic. It’s the local anesthesia. You can still move your toes, see? Tell me about your father. Was he happy or sad when you married?_ **

**Mad. He was so mad at me for marrying a man who wasn’t Catholic. He didn’t come to the wedding and wouldn’t speak to me for a year. We started talking again when I told him I was pregnant with Connor. Did . . .did you find out if my son is with him?**

**_I sent an inquiry, but it’s too soon for them to send word back. What was your father’s name again?_ **

**I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to distract me. You don’t want to tell me what’s coming next because it's something horrible.**

**. . .**

**You’re not going to kill me. Why remove the fetus if you’re just going to kill me? Tell me. Please.**

**_I will tell you, but not now. You have to stay relax for him to finish. I cannot tell you about the future and since you do not wish to speak of the past, shall we speak of the present? Do you remember who Takashi Shirogane is?_ **

**Yes, I think I do. He’s the pilot who died in the Kerberos mission a while back . . . why are you asking me about him?**

**_What do you know of him?_ **

**Nothing. I do know he was a pilot for Galaxy Garrison. Why?**

**_We’re finished._ **

**I don’t want to see it.**

**_We’ll keep it out of sight._ **

**Why are you being nice?**

**_I’m being nice?_ **

**Do you want something from me? You specifically, I mean. The last Galra I thought was nice . . .wasn’t nice.**

**_Yes, I do. I will tell you of it another time. We’re finished. In a few minutes you’ll regain feeling, then you’ll be taken back to your room to rest._ **

**I’m so scared.**

**_You’re in a very dangerous place, Bridget Walsh. You should be scared._ **

* * *

The procedure went well. With Ulaz speaking with the female in her language, she stayed calm and still for the removal. Clari pieced together the parts of the fetus to ensure they had the whole thing. If it had lived, Commander Prorok would have been the father of a son matching his coloring. The fetus was placed in a sealed container to be done with as Commander wished.

The female was sent to her cell to recover while he put put the finishing touches on the indoctrination program. When the day came to collect the female, she had already been spirited away to Zenana by Madame Floentha.

He was not pleased.

It seemed that the Madame Floentha had lost her patience and wanted to see the female decorated. And the serving girls and other Courtesans enjoyed playing with the new species. Not playing as in play with a playmate, but more like play with a plaything.

He stormed angrily down the inner halls of Zenana with Ulaz behind him. He spoke heatedly, whether to Ulaz to himself, even he didn’t know. “She knows better. She knows that once they have completed the indoctrination then she can have them. Why do I have this job if she’s going to go around my back like this?”

Ulaz said nothing. Just kept an easy pace with his stride. They passed Courtesans who either ignored them or tried to catch their eyes with seductive glances. The scents of the halls always gave him a headache as it was combination of female, musk, perfume, and sex. It assaulted his sense of smell, seeming to reach up through his sinus passages and rub his brain.

Finding the dressing room easily enough. It was the one with all the twittering of female voices. He opened the door without bothering to knock. There was a group of them around a central figure sitting cross legged on a cushion. With their skirts and robes whipping about, they reminded him of feathered scavengers on carrion. And standing in the corner, overseeing the dressing party was Madame Floentha staring at the subject with a critical, but calculating gaze. Brin could tell that already she was planning on how best to utilize this tantalizing new addition to her Zenana; how to dress her, whom to present her to, and what skills to train her.

When the giggling mass of silks and gauze parted to see the results of their work, he was able to get a clear look at the female. They had parted her from the white pants and sleeveless top and replaced them with a white garment of Zenana’s devising. A white strip of silken cloth wrapped over her upper arms and crossed above bare breasts while a second strip crossed beneath them and around the ribs. The effect both lifted and displayed the breasts, offering them up to be viewed and touched. Just beneath the second cloth strip, a white skirt flowed down her body, pooling between folded legs and behind her with long slits down the sides from the upper thigh leaving her legs easily revealed. Her hair had been washed and straighten, the bountiful curls stretched into a long curtain of copper, with small white star shaped flowers clipped in the long tresses. A gold circlet with a white stone on her forehead and gold bracelets completed the ensemble.

Her makeup was artfully applied. It gave her eyes a larger appearance, making the green of her eyes stand out. A neutral color lipstick was used with a light blush. Her skin had been dusted white, making any blemishes, marks, and freckles disappear. Even her nipples were painted almost the same shade as her hair. It gave her an ethereal virginal appearance while being seductive, drawing the eyes to her breasts and hair.

The female was staring at her reflection in bewilderment. Brin grimaced as he saw there was no haze of drugs in her eyes. She was completely lucid and sober, but had been complicit in their dressing and decorating her. She noticed them standing in the doorway in the mirror and she covered her breasts, her face going pink. The women twittered in amusement at her embarrassment. One woman, a teal colored alien who was arrange the face paints was going unashamedly nude.

Brin waded through the women and cushions, twisting away whenever one tried to caress his legs or be bold enough to ‘grab’ him. Madame Floentha had her fan open and was flicking it back and forth, in akin to a soldier brandishing his shield. Her amber eyes regarded him over the laced edge, “You wish to speak with me, Brin?”

“I haven’t even started the indoctrination, Floentha,” he said, purposefully forgoing her title. “Do you not realize how dangerous this is? What if she attacked one of the girls or tried to run away?”

“Oh, she’s been like a doll. A little scared, but she went along with everything just fine. She even took a bath with some of the girls. The confused little thing tried to walk into the dryer chamber first.”

Brin realized that he wasn’t speaking her language. Oh, they were both speaking Imperial, but Madame Floentha had this selective hearing trait he found mind numbingly frustrating. He switched gears, “What if she acted out in front of a patron? What if word gets out that you have no control over Zenana?”

“I have full control of Zenana,” the Madame’s eyes flashed. “I’m not a fool, Brin, I had my attendants with her with orders to keep her away from patrons. And she has good behavior.”

Brin crossed his arms, shifting his weight to his back foot. “So do you want to toss her to the patrons without being indoctrinated? Feel free. I don’t see why I waste my time . . .”

“No, of course not,” Madame said brashly. “I want her to go through the indoctrination, but I have a right to see how well she’ll fit in. The girls adore her!”

Brin took a slow breath and let it out through his nose. Of course, the girls adore her because they are like little girls themselves thanks to the indoctrination. And they don’t yet see her as a rival. Once the female is added to Zenana as a courtesan, then they’ll unsheathe their claws and bare their teeth.

“Right now, she’s a hairless babe with the ignorance of an amoebae. Look at her, she’s blubbering away at your cohort like a lost child finding her father.”

Brin turned around and saw that Ulaz had waded through the women. He was kneeling on the cushions with the female speaking softly to her. From the lilt of his voice, Brin could tell he was speaking her language. The female still had her hands covering her breasts and spoke back to him, her face still pink with teary eyes. A woman with a long tail and a willowy frame was leaning on Ulaz’s broad back declaring how she loved a man with good muscles. Ulaz ignored her, continuing his discussion with the female. Then he curled an arm around her and stood, shaking off the tailed woman, and lifted the female onto her bare feet. Anklets clicked together as she walked with him to Brin’s side.

“Are you finished with her, Madame?” Ulaz said politely with a bow.

Madame Floentha studied the surgeon with raised eyebrows and appreciative gleam in her eye. Brin supposed that Ulaz was an attractive male. With a snap of her fan, she closed it with one hand and shifted her shawl down her thick shoulders. Was that a suggestive tilt in her body to show off a bountiful cleavage?

“Yes, you may take her back. The girls had their fun for the day.”

There were moans of disappointment and whined protests, but nothing that was outright defiant. They were like children when a prized toy was being taken away by the adults. Yet, they would quickly forget her as soon as she was taken from their sight. They were already putting away garments, dropping jewelry into boxes, and closing up containers of makeup and face paint, softly gossiping among themselves, the female already almost forgotten.

With a hand on her shoulder and Brin leading the way, Ulaz led her from the dressing room. She walked along, her arms folded protectively over her breasts and staring wide eyed at the rooms and those who passed by. She flinched when she heard a squeal from within a closed room and stared open mouth when a half nude woman, with lavender skin and long fur on her forearms strolled by, large breasts barely contained by a halter top. Her face kept changing colors, switching from a sickly pallor to rich red, her cheeks covered in pink patches.

Double doors whispered opened and a weeping woman with long head tails and dark eyes fled through them, tripping in her haste. It was fortunate she fell when she did as a second later a wine pitcher sailed through the air, her head had been in the trajectory, and smashed against the wall. Eggplant color wine burst in all directions, spraying across Brin’s boots.

“You little snatch!” A bellow thundered from the open doors. A Galra appeared at the doorway, his pants down below his hips, flashing the hall a magenta erection. “You watch your fucking teeth next time or I’ll bust them out!”

The woman was cowering on the floor, sobbing so hard her pleas couldn’t be understood. The Galra man lunged forward and the woman fled down the hall. A serving girl appeared on hand, as if summoned, and began cleaning the mess away, gingerly scooping pieces of the pitcher onto a tray while sopping up the wine with a washcloth.

From the corner of Brin’s eye, Ulaz pushed the female behind him and Brin realized what a mistake it had been to bring her back the way they came. The Pharnax campaign had just came to an end, a new planet brought into the Empire and the Commanders and leading officers had returned to the Heart to much fanfare and promotions given to the worthy. They were all here, in Zenana, celebrating their victories.

The Galra officer before them had just lost a woman and would be looking for another to replace her. And sure enough, while checking the small scratches on his erection, he noticed them there and pulled up his pants. His face took on a hard, challenging sneer, then lax back into an interested look. “What’s that?”

Brin swallowed and tried to keep his ears from folding. He almost –  _ almost  _ – said ‘nothing’, feeling like a kit trying to sneak a Yupper pup into the house. He cleared his throat and answered, “We were taking her down to the lower levels for processing.”

“She looks processed,” the soldier, Brin didn’t know his rank, said inclining his head to see around Ulaz. “I want to see her.”

There was no choice. They couldn’t deny a celebrated soldier returned home from a successful campaign. If it had been a disgraceful loss, yes, they could turn him away with a sneer or insult and no one would bat an eye. Now, it would have been a grave insult, especially in a place in Zenana where nothing was denied.

Ulaz gently brought the female forward who was looking perplexed and scared. Then she saw the Galra soldier and froze, her eyes going wide and lips parting in a small O. The soldier’s mouth turned up in a pleased smile, lust naked in his depths of his amber eyes.

He wasn’t alone. He and his cohorts have taken one of the larger rooms of Zenana, meant for parties and entertainment. There was rambunctious laughter from with him, drunken singing, and the sounds of sex among the cacophony. Another soldier, likely drawn by the opened doors appeared. He was a darker shade of purple,, an almost dark slate color, with three crests atop of his head. He was hairless with a tough hide. He was half dress, the upper part of his bodysuit hanging down the back of his legs from the waist. Noticing the female, he gave her brief glance and dismissed her, likely not his type.

And he was joined by, yet another. This one still had his bodysuit on, though the armor was missing, likely in a state of undressing. He was rather quite tall with an almost lanky frame with long arms. A  _ cedair  _ stick, one of the ‘special’ ones cut with herbs and mushrooms from planet of very relaxed herbalists. He had a lighter shade with darker marks across his face and eyes. A thin, angular face, gave him an almost gaunt look. He took a long drag on his the stick between his teeth.

“What is that?” he said in a deep, rough voice.

“Human. From Earth,” Brin said, trying to make it sound as disinteresting as paint drying.

“I studied the reports of the Earth war. Took Prorok long enough to take it, didn’t it?” The Galra who attacked the woman earlier laughed.

The darker Galra snorted, “Looks like a hairless cub. It’d be like screwing a kit.”

At least they didn’t need to worry about him. Brin beseech any deities from any culture that was seeing this, to come to his aid now. He glanced at Ulaz whose mouth was set in a grim line, but he too knew they were in a very precarious position.

The tall Galra knelt, folding his tall, body to kneel, just bringing him almost face to face with the female. She would have drawn back if it wasn’t for Ulaz’s cautious hand on her shoulder. Brin hoped the female knew the danger she was in and behavior appropriately and give them a chance to get her out of here without more trauma making his job harder. If they took her into their party and used her or if she showed disrespect and they punished her, Madame Floentha would blame him! When it was her fault for bringing the female to such an unsafe place!

“Does it speak?” The tall Galra inquired, taking a short drag on his cedair.

“Only basic,” Brin said. Oh, by the Mother of Zarkon, she hadn’t any coaching or training! Not even indoctrinated!

“What’s your name, dear?” The Galra said in Basic, in a light, singsong tone, like the sort one would use to speak with a slow child.

The female blinked. Brin didn’t know if she was surprised he spoke Basic to her or asked for her name. Speaking of which, what was her name again?

“Bridget,” she said softly.

The dark Galra rolled his eyes. “Primitives names, saying their names is like talking through a mouthful of rocks.”

The tall one ignored his companion, “Bridget, do you want to join the party with us.”

Brin closed his eyes, not wanting to see the implosion.

The female’s face stiffen, but her eyes didn’t narrow, nor did she seem afraid, well, not a lot. She said in a clear, articulated voice,  _ “Je préfère manger du verre et du sang de merde.” _

What did she say? And in what language? He knew it wasn’t her language as it sounded different from when she and Ulaz spoke it. He didn’t recognize it. Was it an insult? If it was, would he realize it?

The tall Galra looked her over again, perhaps wondering if she was mentally slow, “Speak in Basic.”

The female did, though her eyes were wide, not from fear or shock, but as if to show off an innocent confusion, “They said I had to stay with them.”

Was it her wits or ignorance that directed the attention from her to them? All three soldiers looked at them, taking in the medical uniforms, and three sets of eyes narrowed with suspicion. Though the medical field was a respectable profession, it was secondary to the superiority of the Galra military whose might both expanded and protected the Empire. Soldiers always got first choice of everything, whether it was loot, land, power, or women, they always took their reward. Now it seemed that two medical doctors had sneaked into Zenana, created thousands of years ago to cater to soldiers only (yet the riff raff tends to keep slithering their way into it) to take what seemed to be a prize from a newly conquered planet for their own uses. And they didn’t like it.

Even the dark one who showed no interest was flexing his claws and eyeing them darkly. He may not have wanted the female, but he would protect what could be his and not broker with any theft from lesser ranks.

Brin held up his hands, hoping they weren’t too drunk to listen to reason, “I work with Zenana. Ask Madame Floentha and she’ll vouch for me. The female hasn’t been trained yet, in fact she just underwent a procedure so she can’t be used . . .”

“She looks healthy to me,” The first Galra said, arms crossed, his eyes glazed from the drugs lurking in his system. “In fact, we can test her for you.”

The female moved forward, pulling away from Ulaz’s hand. She slid around the tall Galra, still kneeling, not flinching when she brushed his shoulder. The soldiers didn’t stop her, they saw no need as she was moving among them, behind them, into the room, where they wanted her to be. And it proved in their drunken view, she was being whisked away and now what was theirs was returned. And if Brin or Ulaz should try to stop her, then there would be violence.

But she didn’t stop. She kept going, taking slow, small steps that grew into long strides. Brin saw her destination. The room was one of the larger round rooms with more than one doorway and she was heading for the opposite door. She ducked around a couch with a soldier burrowing into the bountiful breasts of a giggling alien and scooted away from the attentions of a Galra too caught up in the drink to really catch her arm and then she slipped out of the room like a flash of light.

“She’s gone,” Ulaz said softly, gravely.

The soldiers comically blinked and looked around. The shirtless Galra actually gave them a scathing look as if they had spirited her away with some arcane art. Then he lost interest, out of sight, out of mind, and he still had an erection that needed answering. He turned away to find a woman who wasn’t being occupied by another soldier. The darker soldier shrugged his shoulders, glad to be done with the business while his companion looked disappointed, but not in the mood to be chasing a female across Zenana while there were others. As far as the three of them were concerned, mission accomplished, they kept the female out of the hands of thieves and they can go on enjoying themselves.

She had artfully pulled a runner. Well played, Brin had to admit. Well played.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr either my muse RP blog: rebelcourtesan  
> Or on my writing blog: gapspace


	3. Welcome  to Zenana 3

My body was sore after the procedure.  There were dull aches in my lower stomach like the muscles were being pinched or poked like there were fingers inside me.  I thought I would feel cleaner, less burdensome, without Prorok’s fetus inside me, but instead, I felt empty and guilty. It wasn’t abortion, a mortal sin, the baby was already dead when they removed it.  But even if it was, I refused to think of it as wrong. It was an abomination of rape, a half-breed I refused to have in my body nor give birth to. It was gone and having it gone was good. 

Why were there a pang in my heart as there were pangs in my womb?

I waited.  The door lay before like some hungry ravenous beast ready to leap at me.  Any second, it would open and some new horror would befall me. Maybe it would finally end me.

Did Connor make it to my Dad’s?  Was Takor telling the truth about having my son sent to Liverpool or was it a lie to placate me?  I could see them killing my son. Since he was baby, he couldn’t work in the mines, but he was the son of a rebel.  I could see them think it better to kill him before he could grow up to cause problems later and cheaper to kill him than send him across the Irish Sea.  How would they do it? Suffocate him? Throw him against a wall hard enough to break his little body? Or a single gunshot to his precious skull?

The thoughts were morbid and tormented me.  As much as I loathed Takor, I desperately wanted to see him, to ask him, demand he tells me what he had done to Connor.  

Sometimes, I find the strength to stand and beat the door.  I scream at it and slap the metal as I had done before I taken from Earth.  I would expend what energy I had and fall back into my corner of the cell and brood in silence until my next bout of energy.

I wondered if Eva knew what had happened to us.  Was she somewhere in Europe fighting the good fight or had learned of our fate?  Was Devin still in the bottom of the pit? Rotting among the rocks with the quarry serving as his tomb?  Would Dad ever know what had happened to me? I hope he would never find out. I hoped I would become a lost ghost among the many that had gone missing during the invasion, the ones whose pictures were up on public boards pleading for help to find absent loved ones.  How easily I could see my picture, tattered and bent by wind stapled to a board, one among many images of smiling faces, happy and unaware of their own fates.

I was now one of those girls who went missing.  You hear about them, but you really don’t think about them.  People shrug, it happens, and go about their day because those girls must have been with men they shouldn’t meet or gone to places they shouldn’t have.  I had always thought I would be safe from disappearing like that because I had stayed away from bad men and gone places where I was safe. Well, here I was now, except I wasn’t missing, at least not for myself.  Going missing means you are weren’t where others knew you to be or have any means to contact them. Missing was a word to pertained to others. I wasn’t missing myself, but right there in a Galra cell.

I’m babbling.  I’m sorry. Those days are very hard for me to remember.

When I heard the sound from outside the door, I stood quickly, pressing my back to the wall, fearful that Prorok was on the other side.  I expected the doors to park and blind me with light just before a large black form blotted it out. Instead, there was a slight knock on the metal and a voice that squeezed my stomach said, “Bridget?”

I sank onto the floor and huddled low behind my knees, glaring hatefully between them.  Takor, the reason I was ‘missing’, the reason I was here, and the reason why my husband was dead, was standing outside the cell door.  He was speaking in the hush voice one would use to not be heard where they aren’t supposed to be. “Are you awake?”

“Where’s my son?”  I yelled at the door.  “What happened to him? What did you do?”

There was a puzzled pause.  “I sent him to Liverpool, to your father.  I told you that. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember,” I couldn’t contain the venom in my voice.  “I just don’t believe you.” I had convinced myself that Takor had done away with Connor to get to me.  Isn’t that what lions did? A new dominate male lion kills all the cubs to get the females back in heat.  It wouldn’t be too far off if Galra shared the same mindset. “How do I know if you’re telling the truth?”

“I would  _ never  _  hurt your son,” Takor actually sounded offended.  “He’s safe. I swear on my honor that he is with your father.”

I laughed dryly, “You have no honor.  Your promises are just words to get me to do what you want.”

“Say what you will, but I am telling you the truth,” Takor fell silent and said quietly, “I have to go, but I’ll come back later.  Maybe you’ll be in a better mood next time.”

Just as I was glad to hear him leave, I realized that I could have demanded to know what was going to happen to me.  Why was I being examined and treated? If I wasn’t going to a labor camp and I was stolen away from Prorok, then what was going to happen to me?

An hour later, just as I was gearing up for another go at the door, I heard movement behind it. Just as I thought it was Takor again, the door opened and tall Ulaz came inside.  I pushed back against the wall as if I could hide in it. What was going to happen now?

He held an ampule with a conical tip between a thumb and forefinger.  He held it up and examined as casually as someone making sure their pencil was sharp enough.  “You haven’t been sleeping. I’m going to give you a mild sedative that will encourage you to rest.”

I eyed the ampule as I would a sharp knife.  “I don’t need it. I’ve been sleeping . . .”

“You’ve only slept a total of two hours since your arrival nearly three quintants ago.”

I didn’t realize we were speaking Basic until he said quintant which didn’t translate well in English nor any other language I knew.  I could assume he meant days, but that couldn’t be right. Surely I hadn’t been here for three days.

Every few hours a covered meal tray would slide through an opened slot at the base of the door.  Sometimes, when I was feeling up to it, I would uncover the tray to look at the alien food. Some of it was pastel colored vegetables or breads of unfamiliar texture.  It came with a cup of some drink or tea I cautiously sipped, once discovering a blue concoction actually tasted like mouthwash. Yet, sometimes when I was too sad or scared, I leave the tray where it came in, untouched until it was retrieved.  

The thought of sleeping under the influence of a drug terrified me.  I would be helpless against whatever would happen while I slept. What if it was a means to make me compliant for another assault?  I had developed a horrifying idea that I was being handed over to another Galra Commander and this one wanted me less resistant.

“I don’t want to sleep!”  The words were childish, but true.  

His cool expression never waver.  He had expected me to resist the sedative.  “Without sleep, your mental and physical health will decline.”

Why did he care so much about my health?  He, himself, didn’t, I knew. He was here on behalf of someone or something else who wanted me in good condition which brought me no comfort.  In fact, it made me want the sedative even less. I knew it was a fight I would lose; Prorok had taken pleasure in teaching me that lesson. I could see light glinting off the visor of a sentry standing behind him.  It would hold me down while he administer the injection.

“Lay down on the bed.  The sedative will work quickly and you falling will defeat its purpose.”

I consider stubbornly refusing the bed and just lay down on the floor, but how would that help me?  I climb onto the bed which was oddly comfortable. It molded to my weight like memory foam, but felt like soft leather to the touch.  I curled onto my side, facing the wall away from them.

I felt him at my back like a solid darkness.  Gloved clawed fingers touched my arm and I flinched.  He was leaning over me, close, much closer than was necessary to give me a shot.  

“Your son is in Liverpool with Liam Moore.”  His voice was soft, a sorough of grass and rocks.  

My heart jolted and I slowly turned my head to him.  His body was blocking my face, letting us speak . . .freely?  If we whisper, the sentry can’t hear us, but why?

“I don’t believe you,” I whispered back.    

He pressed the ampoule against my arm and there was a soft hiss and a slight sting as the drug entered my bloodstream.  Then he turned back to the sentry, “I’m going to monitor her for any adverse reaction to the drug.”

With light touches on my shoulders, I was rolled onto my back and he thumbed down my lower lids and inspected my eyes.  Then his fingers felt the sides of my throat for swelling. It was like snakes crawling over my skin. I wanted to shove his hands away and slap him for touching me.  Just leave me alone, I wanted to shout in his face, but I held myself back and endure. Worse had been done to me. This was nothing in comparison.

“I’ll provide you proof,” Ulaz said low, his head bowed to prevent the sentry from seeing his lips moving.  

“Why?”  I forced myself to keep from hissing at him lest I betray us to the sentry.  “What do you want?”

Ulaz gave no answer, but continued checking my vitals.  By the time he felt my pulse, my eyes were getting heavy.  He wasn’t lying about the drug working quickly. Once, he was satisfied I wasn’t reacting negatively to the drug and he rose from the bed and said in an apathetic tone, “When you wake, eat all of your next meal or I may have to return to implement gavage procedures.”

With that said, he left the cell.  The door slid shut momentarily casting me into darkness until my eyes adjusted.  I turned onto my side, my mind racing despite the drug lulling me to sleep. Why the secrecy?  What did it matter to him whether the sentry knew what we were talking about or not? What would it do?

Then a revelation burst like a firecracker, tugging my from the lull of sleep.  Police cars had installed cameras to record the going ons between officers and suspects, to catch any officer’s misconduct or for evidence against suspects.  With sentries being alien hi-tech, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to assume they had similar recording devices. So Ulaz didn’t want our exchange recorded, but that still didn’t answer why he want to give me proof of my son’s whereabouts.  Maybe he felt sorry for me?

I instantly took that thought and gave it a sound thrashing before tossing it into the bin.  Oh no, I will most surely not let myself me fooled again. Galra did nothing without expecting something in return.  Just as Prorok taught me how useless it was to fight them, Takor had taught me it was just as dangerous to trust them.  I would have to be very careful around Ulaz.

I wanted Devin.  I closed my eyes and imagined feeling his weight shifting the mattress.  The low tilt beneath me as he settled close and warmth as he laid an arm across my waist.  I fell asleep believing he was there with me and I did not dream.

A meal tray was waiting for me when I woke.  It felt warm to the touch and I lifted the lid with Ulaz’s warning about force feeding hovering over me.  There was a meat with a sweet dark glaze, a piece of bread with nuts baked within the crust, a bed of green rice, and the drink was black tea with a strong aftertaste.  I ate most of it, surprising myself by my appetite and most shocking of all was how better much I felt, especially after eating.

I was more alert and moving was easier.  Things felt clearer and less heavy. I neatly covered the tray and set it near the slot for easier retrieval.  With newfound energy, I paced my cell, desperate for something to do, anything. I usually burned this energy by cleaning or running errands.  I would call Dad or visit Eva. If Connor wasn’t napping, I’d play with him on the floor . . .

I dearly wish Ulaz was being honest when he promised to give me proof that Connor was alright.  The thought of him dead wouldn’t leave me and I dwelled on it like a sore infected tooth. Which was better?  Wondering whether your child was alive or nor or knowing without doubt your husband was dead? I switched between the two like a metronome ticking back and forth.  One second, I grieved for Devin, the next I worried for Connor.

By the time the women came for me, I had expended my energy with worry and grief and was about to slouch against the wall and watch the door when it suddenly opened.  A bright blue pigtailed head leaned through the doorway and a large three finger hand knocked on the edge of the wall.

“Knock, knock, are you up?”  She flashed me a playful grin, like a girlfriend waking you up from a sleepover.  

At first, I thought she was Galra, but then realized she was a completely different species of alien.  Her forearms were thicker than her upper arms. Her hands looked as if she were wearing thick mittens, but they moved with versatile normalcy.  Her wears tilted up from her head in curved points and the pigtails were actually heads tails that swung as she moved in happy little bobs and skips.  She was cute with a small face, large blue eyes, and a pert nose in the center.

She was the last thing I was expecting when the doors opened.  I was so used to aliens taller than myself that I thought she was a juvenile until she stepped into the cell.  Oh, she was an adult alright. Her clothing was tailored to prove that. Her top was narrow strip over small breasts leaving her waist and shoulders bare and loose dark leggings draped over elegant ankle boots.

“Well, you look gloomy,” the alien girl said disappointed with her hands on her hips.  What was she expecting? A puppy?

I was torn between asking who (or what) she was and what did she want.  Before I could decide, a rich dulcet voice from outside the door said, “Miki, move out of the way so she can come out.”

The blue girl flounced aside with an annoyed grunt.  “Fine, you may come out.” She swept a long arm towards the empty doorway.

I stared at this surreal image of the door opened without anyone blocking my way and I was given permission to go through.  Unshackled with no threats I could perceive. I didn’t trust it. “Where are we going?”

The blue girl, Miki, rolled her eyes, “To the salon!”  As if I ought to know.

This was too much.  I couldn’t believe I was actually walking through the cell and into the open hallway lined with similar doors but all closed.  The floor, walls, and concave ceiling were the uniform color of dark steel with purple lights glowing at different segments. There was a second woman standing near a sleekly designed sentry.  

This one was red skin with black hair gathered in an elaborate bundle braids.  Her brow was v-shape with thin horns sprouting upward. Each hand had four fingers and her feet were elongated with her standing on the bare soles with the tips of her toes ending in lacquer talons.  She gave me a sharp tooth smile, but it was kindly and almost reassuring. Her face was long boned with high cheekbones with a broad nose. She wore a tight black halter top trimmed with gold with a long skirt that brushed the tops of her long ankles.      

“You don’t have to be scared.  The salon won’t hurt you much.”  She motioned for me to follow.

I hesitated, still uncertain about my sudden emancipation from the cell.  Was I leaving the frying pan to land in the fire? What was the salon? Surely, it wasn’t what they were leading me to believe . . .

I looked at the sentry still standing at attention behind the red skin woman.  It wasn’t like the ones that patrolled the streets of Limerick. It was a thinner model with white metal embossed with purple sigils.  Instead of the usual purple visor, it held a blue eyeband. With the slightest movement of its head, the eyeband tilted in my direction.  

I need no further hints that I was to go with these women or I would be taken with them.  They took me down the long hall of doors and deep into the facility I found myself in. Goose flesh rippled across my arms.  The air was cooler than my cell’s with an oddly clean smell that was similar to the scent of recycled air from Prorok’s command ship.  Back then, I was unfamiliar with ships and stations so I really had no idea where I was, but I had the sense that I wasn’t planetside. The air turn warmer as they took me to their salon.  The architecture smoothed out from its sharp angles to gentle curves and took on a lighter coloring to near white.

Miki walked with a near skip in her step.  She wasn’t a child, but she was very young or had a childlike mind.  It was hard to tell with her as I was unsure of how her people aged. I understood that Galra had short childhoods and lived surprisingly long life spans counting off centuries as if they were days on a calendar while a human was considered long lived if they should each their 80s or 90s.  Miki may look like an adult, but she could be considered a child by her people for all I knew.

The other woman, Cress, seemed much more mature compared to Miki.  She strode with a smooth grace on her long feet. She held a maternal patience for Miki, quietly chiding her without becoming angry and shared a few words of reassurance with me.  Don’t be scared. You’re alright. It’s safe.

Yet I imagine the same words being used on cattle being taken into a slaughterhouse.  I tried to ask them where we were and what was going to happen to me, but they only gave me blank smiles and more soothing words.  The sentry walked behind us, or more behind me. I glanced over my shoulder at it and wondered who else was watching me behind that blue glass.

Then through a wide set of doors opened out into a bright open area.  My eyes had become so accustomed to the shadowy interiors of cells that I’m momentarily blinded.  In a panic, my sense of smell strengthen to accommodate the sudden lack of sight and there was wonderful fragrance of soap.  Water was running, splashing, spraying on floors like a heavy dousing. When my sight recovered, I could see the walls were lined with floor to ceiling mirrors and the floor was white and smooth like marble.  Water fell from ceiling in a constant rainfall making the air warm and humid.

Miki began shamelessly disrobing, tossing aside her clothes on the floor as mindlessly as a spoiled teenager with a parent who cleans up after her.  Cress undress with more care, folding them neatly before storing them in set of compartments in the wall. Then they both stared at me.

“You can’t bathe in your clothes,” Cress said gently as if I was a slow child.  

As uncomfortable as I was to undress in front of strangers, I was desperate for a shower.  I hadn’t bathed in days. I stripped off the white pants and top and like Cress tucked them inside the compartment, though from Cress’s tilted brow, she may have preferred I left them on the floor.  They both scrutinized me; Miki with large eyes raking my appearance and Cress with dim satisfaction. They were sizing me up for something and I was suddenly self-conscious of my nudity and regretful of going along with them.          

The showers were blocked off by a clear wall of glass which didn’t steam to obscure the view of within the showers.  There were two openings and I headed to the nearest one, eager to get away from their stares. The entrance was tubular with water tight doors.  I stood there waiting for them to slide open or for Miki or Cress to open them, but they were standing at the other door watching me in amusement.

Miki was barely holding herself back from laughing while Cress gently motion for me to come over.  “We go in this way. That’s the dryer.”

***

I chose a spoke a few spaces away from Cress and Miki, but close enough I could see what they were doing.  They moved with the casual movement of someone at home. Miki’s slim body graciously spun beneath the torrent of water looking like some water nymph from a Greek poem.  Cress meticulously unbraiding her hair, just beyond the stream of water. I stepped beneath a downpour and saw my reflection for the first time since we left the gas station hideout.  

“Oh Lord,” I moaned.  The last visages of bruises remained on my face and body, each a horrible reminder of my time with Prorok.  A bluish tinge on my stomach brought back that last bout of abuse where he kicked my across the room, the necklace of dark marks were he choked me whenever I screamed too loud for his liking, and all the diminishing marks that still clung to my like deep stains.  

I must have lost nearly 20 kilos, I could almost count my ribs and my hip bones were more pronounced than before.  My face never looked so thin, almost gaunt. It was no wonder that Ulaz had been concerned for my health, I look like a ghoul.  The only lively things about me was my flaming red hair and my wide waifish green eyes.

I thrust my head beneath the downpour uncaring whether it was warm or cold.  It was pleasantly warm and felt good streaming down my shoulders and back. Wringing my hands through my hair, I looked around for soap or shampoo and seeing none, I looked to Cress and Miki.  Miki was already soaping herself from head to toe in a pink like foam while Cress was massage her scalp with a white lather. Again, I couldn’t find the source of their soap or shampoo.

Then from the corner of my eye, I noticed images glowing on the mirror at eye level.  I hadn’t noticed them before now because I was avoiding looking at myself. They consisted of lines and circles forming images of a non distinguishable figures in the process of washing.  One had bubble hands on its head, one was scrubbing its face, and the third was standing with arms open surrounded by bubbles. Did they think me so primitive that I needed instructions on bathing?

Cress pressed a finger on the mirror in front of her and small dispenser slid forth from the mirror’s surface and drizzled thick fluid into her other waiting hand.  Elated from the epiphany of the meaning behind the images, I hastily tap the image of the figure washing its head. The mirror seemed to sink in forming a rectangular shape before sliding forward like the disc drive of a computer.  A tiny nozzle underneath spewed a pink lather into my hands and then without any indication from my slide back into the mirror where the glass molded back into a smooth surface.

I resumed my usual bathing routine, taking comfort in the familiarity of it.  I lather shampoo in my hair and bathed my body while letting it rince. Washing made me feel better, as if I washing away the last few weeks . . .had it been weeks?  Or months? I couldn’t tell. It was like a terrible dream blotted with dark pain. It still clung to me now.

There was a movement behind me.  In the mirror I watched another person come into the shower.  This one was of a thicker build than Cress and Miki with ivory limbs with pattern lines along the arms and legs.  As I looked at the patterns which mottled the back I saw that it was  _ his  _ back!  

I kept my back to the newcomer and realized he could still see me from the mirror’s reflection.  I stood close against it to keep him from me, but allowed me to watch him in the reflection.    

He exchanged a few words with Cress and waved a greet with Miki before giving me a curious glance, but took a spot in the otherside from us and began washing.  Maybe one side was for women and the other for men or maybe he sensed his presence wasn’t welcomed from me and wished to give me space. Either way, I was still befuddled by his presence and I stayed flushed against the mirror as the rinsed off all the soap and shampoo.  

Cress collected me to go with them into what they called the dryer and it was certainly a dryer.  The compartment was big as a train compartment with no seats. When the doors seal shut before and behind us, jettisons of warm, nearly hot air, blasted us from all directions.  I was buffeted nearly off my feet and I had grab onto a patient Cress to keep from dashing my skull against the side. When we left the dryer, Miki was laughing at my hair which had turned itself into a voluminous cloud of tangles and curls.  

We collected white wrappers from a corner and left through a seperate door with the sentry behind us (me).  

***

I won’t bore you with the details of what happened next.   It was so surreal that I barely register anything that was happening around me.  We met with other women who chatted casually with both Miki and Cress while giving me curious (and sometimes suspicious) glances.  Then they took me into a room with a tub where they cajole me to get in after carefully pinning my hair up and sternly warned me not to get it wet.  

Curious, I got in, wondering why I was taking a bath after a shower.  The water was warm, but uncomfortable for some reason. I wanted out, but Cress told me it was alright and just to give it a few moments.  A few moments to do what, I wondered. Then the water began to gleam and upon closer inspection, I saw the water was littering with tiny hairs before they were joined a long curled hair and then another.  It was  _ my  _ hair!  Sliding a hand along my leg, more hairs floated to the surface and dipping my fingers between my thighs, more pubic hairs followed.  This water, this depilatory solution was killing all the hair follicles on my body. When I left the tub my body had never been so smooth or hairfree since my girlhood and I never had to shave my legs again.

I tried to ask questions about what was going on and where I was and what they intended to do with me, but they only told not to worry or don’t be scared and tried to distract me with another beauty routine.  I had my hair brushed and straightened, it would be interesting to see how long that lasted. Others came along, some curious, others wanting to involve themselves. I was distracted by them, all of them inhuman with skin color never before seen on Earth and facial structures that would have challenged any physiognomist.  

I was swept up with dresses, hair clips, makeup, and jewelry and there were so many of them that I felt intimidated that if I struggled or didn’t go along they would force me or hurt me.  They covered my fading bruises with powder and marveled at how well my skin received cream and powdering. A woman with four arms experimented by dusting my arm with different color powders turning my arm into rainbow limb before wiping it away clean.   

I was sitting in front of a mirror wearing only half a dress which left my breasts bare with my hair (still straight) hanging down my shoulders when Ulaz and the Doctor came in.  

The doctor was the one who performed my pelvic exam and removed Prorok’s fetus.  He looked angry, flustered, and his took one glance at me and then shot a furious glare at another Galra who I hadn’t noticed before.  Where Prorok had been solid and stocky, this one was overweight and curvy. For the first time, I was seeing a female Galra or at one I was sure was female.  She was wearing a long dark dress with a fur trimming at the collar and shoulders. The fur between her ears were styled curl the shaded one eye. If she was human, she would have looked like seductive femme fatale from an old 40’s film.  She flicked wide fan back and forth near her chin as she spoke with the doctor which was more for show than for purpose.

I didn’t know it at the time, but I was looking at the Director of Zenana, Madame Floentha, who had ran the station flawlessly for nearly 300 years.  She personally oversaw the training of new courtesans, assessed them, and she carried the last word of whatever fate befell one that broke the rules. I have no idea how long she had stood there watching the proceedings, but I understood that the doctor was upset with her and it likely had something to do with me as he kept indicating me with sweeps of one hand.  

Ulaz knelt beside me ignoring the others cooing and fondling him.  In near perfect English, he said, “Are you alright?”

I just wanted clothes or at least a blanket or a towel to cover myself.  “What is this place? Who are these women? None of them will tell me anything.”

He ignored my questions which anger me as I had become fed up with my questions being dodged.  No one really wanted to tell me why the hell I was here and what this dress up thing was all about.  I believe the girls were ordered not to tell me anything, but Ulaz wasn’t under any such restriction, at least, that's what I believed.   And as I expected, he was in no hurry to enlighten me. His was inspecting my eyes and face for any signs of poor health or distress. I had a sudden urge to slap him hard and scream at him to tell me what was going on, but doing so would leave me bare and exposed.

“Stay close to me and keep your eyes forward,” he told me.  

Before I had a chance to think over his words, he had lifted me onto my feet and with a hand on my shoulders led me to the doctor who exchange a few more words with the Galra woman and then I was taken from the room.

I tried to backpedal, to halt leaving without getting properly dressed, but the strength Ulaz used to take me along was indisputable.  I could go with them or he would carry me. They walked with such long strides, it was difficult to keep up and keep myself covered.

Doors opened and warm air blew across my face bringing with it the scent of hot flesh, spilt wine, and the musk of sex.  

My blood turned to ice water, my stomach twisted, and my mind was shattering from what I was seeing.  Oh God . . . how could I have been so blind. All the clues and hints have been there. The concern for my health, the pelvic exam and fetus removal, the beauty treatments, and dress up party . . .I’m in a fucking brothel!  A goddamn Galra bordello.

I needed to get away.  I have to go home, back to my son.    

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr either my muse RP blog: rebelcourtesan  
> Or on my writing blog: gapspace


	4. Welcome to Zenana 4

I believe the rule of no violence in Zenana was not only to protect the courtesans, but to keep away the more brutal Galra. These are usually sent to the far outskirts of Galra territory to gobble up more planets and systems to feed the ever burgeoning Empire’s greed, especially advance worlds that can offer new resources and technology. Sometimes, the violent Galra did make an appearance in Zenana to reconnect with society and others of their own kind. Zenana was like a park or a quaint place to have a social setting. 

There are Galra courtesans who receive pay and could come and go as they wish, but they aren’t as popular as aliens. Galra know what to expect from their Galra partners. Strong, fierce, with prowess in the bedroom as on the battlefield, so they cannot truly relax or rest because they are being judged or eyed for any sign of weakness. Aliens, such as myself, were not allowed to judge them and our opinion meant very little because we were not Galra. They could be as affectionate or demanding as they wanted without losing face. 

I couldn’t have picked a worst time for my first escape attempt. Soldiers had returned from a successful campaign to unwind and celebrate their victory in Zenana. What I had seen had been a celebratory party of sex and drinking and not the everyday occurrences within Zenana’s walls. I could only imagine how frantically Ulaz and the doctor looked for me. I wish they had found me sooner so I wouldn’t have experienced meeting Sendak and made more mistakes.

I steered clear of any occupied rooms with sounds filtering through the closed doors. I passed through lounges and parlors, weaving through alien bodies. I stopped and stared more times than I should have, mesmerized by the alieness around me. I had just gotten used to the Galra on Earth, but now I was seeing dozens, perhaps, hundreds of new species around every corner. A woman with green skin and vivid red eyes, a gray skin girl with long curled horns, a slender boy with leathery skin, all of them painted and draped in finery. All of them lounging among Galra, entertaining, flirting, even loving them.

I keep a distance away from them, always out of arm’s length. I try to stay out of sight and if not, I try to blend in and not be noticed. Once a hand caught my arm and I twist away, wrenching my arm free and fled down the hall, not knowing that I was sporting bleeding scratches on my upper arm until I felt the sting many rooms away. 

Not even when Devin and I were fleeing the Galra had I been so afraid as I am now. I was half naked, exposed, as if I had an open wound revealing my insides. A weapon, I needed a weapon to protect myself if I was grabbed again. With so many Galra soldiers around, in all states of undress, surely there was a gun or a knife lying around unwatched. 

Down the hall from where I was resting, a door opened and a Galra woman came out, coiling a long braid around her neck. She wasn’t dressed as a soldier, but wore a tight fitting dress that accentuated her hips and legs. She ignored me, or maybe she never noticed me to begin with, and walked down the hall in low heels that clicked hollowly on the floor. She had left the door opened and within I could see a gun in a holster sitting on the edge of a table. I waited, biding my time, and as she turned the corner leaving the hall empty save for me, I slipped inside.

I should have been quieter, but I don’t think it would have mattered. He would have known I was there even if I hadn’t moved with the caution and silence of a frighten mouse. The gun was dark with purple edges around the barrel and along the sight. It was much too large for me to wield with one hand and it was still very heavy even when I held it with both hands.

There was a knife in a black sheath connected to the same belt as the gun holster. Just as I was considering taking the knife too, he coughed to get my attention.

The room was large, oval shaped with no corners with a long bed with rumple sheets. The weapons were sitting on a round table for two set with a bowl of strange pink and purple fruit with a jug and two cups. The room held no art or decor save for the Empire’s symbol hanging on a banner above the bed. Light which had been spilling across the floor from an open side door was now darken by the presence of the the biggest Galra I had ever seen. 

The word big couldn’t describe him as well as mountainous, or behemoth. His fur was thick like a bear’s, a polar bear hide, with large wide ears that curved upward at a tilt. The first thing I noticed, other than his great height, was the stump just beneath his left shoulder and a round ocular device where his right eye should be. It gleamed crimson at me and he regarded me with disdain borderline on disgust. 

I turned the gun on him. 

I made two mistakes right then. I assumed because I had a gun I had protection and I believed that since he was missing a limb, he wouldn’t be as threatening as I had first perceived. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Stay away!” I said, the gun rattled in my hands.

He gave me a sardonic smirk that reveal white sharp teeth. Chills rolled over me like ice water as I remembered what had happened the last time I was alone in a room with a strange Galra and this one was bigger than Prorok. My body took action on its own accord and my finger squeezed the trigger. My heart stopped and I gawp at the empty silence and the dead gun in my hands. Galra weapons only worked for Galra. How could I have forgotten that simple fact after living under their rule for nearly a year?

He said something, maybe a demand to put down the gun or to know where I had come from, but I was too panicked to hear or understand him. Through the rising terror, a lucid voice reminded me of the knife still on the table.

I threw the gun at him. He grunted, but whether it was out of pain that it hit him or out of annoyance of having his possessions tossed about, I didn’t know. I grabbed the knife and pulled it from its sheath with both hands. The metal was dark with a purple and orange markings on the handle and blade which looked dreadfully sharp. It wouldn’t need Galra DNA to cut.

A huge purple paw seized my wrists. How could something as big as he move so fast without making a sound? 

The bones in my wrists cracked and I shrieked, jerking with my whole body to get free. I was trapped! I couldn’t move! He was going to bring his other hand and . . .but he had no other hand! He couldn’t hold me and hurt me like Prorok did and I could force him to let me go. Savagely, I bit his wrist with all my might. My teeth threaded through fur and found the skin beneath the pelt. I wa biting so hard my jaws ached and alien blood was in my mouth. He growled, low in his throat, like a choked engine. 

Yet, I made another mistake. I forgot he had teeth too.

He bent low and I felt his breath on my bare shoulder just moments before his own teeth cut into my flesh. I screamed, relinquishing my hold on his wrist and the knife fell from my now numb fingers. The second the knife hit the floor, barely missing my toes, he let me go with both his hand and teeth. Twisting away, I touched my shoulder and it came back bright red. Blood was rolling down my back and chest, tracing red lines along my arm. I fled through the open door and he did not pursue me.

***

An hour later, Ulaz found me fretting in an alcove tending to my shoulder with a cloth I managed to steal while running through a dining area. It had been my last ounce of strength. Adrenaline, fear, losing blood had sapped my reserves of energy. Down a long hall was alcoves, small spaces with couches and seats separated by private curtains. The hall was empty with echos from a party coming from the door at the end. Heat and pain throbbed through my shoulder from crusted teeth marks that looped across my collarbone and shoulder blade. He had bitten me with a wide open mouth. 

I wished I had some antiseptic or some water to clean the bite. I wondered if Galra had poison in their teeth or did getting bit hurt this much? There was no telling how many alien germs the bastard had in his mouth that’s spreading through my bloodstream and festering in the wound. It was burning and pain spread down my arm and across my chest as I gingerly dabbed it with the purple cloth. The bleeding had slowed, but the bite was quite deep, maybe to the bone. 

I was startled when the curtain swished aside and Ulaz came inside, letting it fall behind him. I cringed back, at first believing him a strange Galra coming in after me, but then, I thought after I recognized him, was he any better?

He took in the state of my shoulder. “What happened?” He was calm, neither fretful or angry, his white face hard and stoic.

“Get away from me,” I muttered. He wasn’t blocking the way out completely. I could run, but I was so tired and in so much pain that the energy to do so just wouldn’t come. And I didn’t much fancy running around half naked again nor running into the behemoth again. 

He was leaning over me examining my injury, moving the cloth aside. His nearness sparked sudden revulsion and I kicked at him. My bare foot bounced off his leg which only made my toes hurt and he didn’t flinch, likely didn’t noticed it at all. 

“Stay still.” He was lightly touching the edges of it. It was both painful and sickenly soothing. 

“Stop it!” I shoved away the hand.

Ignoring me, he produced a small plastic container with a spray nozzle from a hidden pocket beneath his sarong. He set this on a narrow counter meant to hold drinks and plates along with other first aid equipment he carried with him. He moved with practiced efficiency, no movement wasted and each item placed deftly within easy reach in the order of necessity. Did he walk around with a medical kit in his pockets for whenever he found half naked women with Galra bites? 

Even though I wanted my injury treated, I didn’t want him near me. I didn’t want any Galra near me. I wanted to scream, but I feared attracting attention and having more Galra come. When he tried to touch my shoulder again, I shrank back, pressing my good shoulder into cushions. “Don’t touch me.” 

“The wound will get infected if it’s not treated,” he said patiently, not angry or annoyed with me. His face remained a blank slate for emotion. 

“I don’t care,” I said scathingly. “I don’t care if it fucking rots. You don’t touch me again! I don’t want any kat touching me again!”

Since he had never been to Earth, he wouldn’t have been exposed to the racial slur for Galra. Before the night I lost my family, I had never used a racial insult in my life, having been brought up to be tolerant and open towards all other races and faiths. When the Galra came, the word cropped up from those were angry and fearful. Back then, I was trying to be good and not use bad words, but in those days I had not known pain, I had not known what it is to be hurt, to be scared, to hate.

He set back on his heels regarding me neutrally, his pupiless golden eyes betraying nothing. Then he pulled a card like device from his sarong pocket. He poked the edge of it with a claw tip and held it out on an open palm. “I’ve brought you proof.”

A small screen glowed in the dim light of the alcove and when I looked at it, my heart stopped. It was Connor. Connor . . .oh, my baby boy, he had grown so big. How long has it been since I’ve seen him? He was sitting on a little plastic tricycle peering at something beyond the edge of the image. He inherited his father’s bright blue eyes and curling black hair. HIs face had thinned, the edge of his jaws were straighter, but still had the chubby roundness of babyhood. His nose, his forehead, his chin, even the way he was staring at something beyond the edge of the image, all of it reflected Devin. 

He was in the front yard of a house I recognized as my father’s. Takor had done as he promised and had my son sent to Dad’s. I had never known such relief. A tight knot of tension in my chest slowly dissolved as I ran my fingers over the image of my son, as if I could reach in and touch him. I wondered if he still slept with his thumb in his mouth, has Dad introduced him to sippy cups, was he sleeping well, has he started eating any new foods . . . the questions poured through me as the tears rolling down my face. 

Meanwhile, Ulaz tended to my shoulder. He cleaned it, sterilized it, and bandaged it. Later, he would staple some of the punctures closed to reducing scarring and do a scan to ensure none of the muscles or bones were damaged. 

“I want to go home,” I said in a croaked whisper. “My baby needs me.”

“That’s not within my power,” he said tersely. “You need to come with me.”

“No.” I shook my head, refusing to budge unless it was towards home and Connor. 

“Resisting will only make it difficult.”

Did he think what I’ve already gone through was easy? In his own way, he was trying to warn me of what was coming next. Yet another mistake I made: I didn’t believe it could get any worse. 

He sighed, resigned to the method he would have to take. “I’m sorry.”

Before I could question him or react, he pressed a hypo-gun, he had been slowly drawing from his sarong, to the side of my neck and pulled the trigger. The drug stung as it spread through my system, working in moments. My vision blurred and a calm lassitude spread over me before panic could set in. I couldn’t support myself anymore and I would have slumped over on the couch if his arm hadn’t been waiting to catch me. He plucked the small tablet from my limp fingers and pocketed it away along with the medical supplies. Then he carried me to indoctrination.

***

I went in and out of consciousness. I kept trying to wake up, but the drug kept dragging me down. In one moment, I thought my father was carrying me to bed as he did when I was little and had fallen asleep downstairs while watching tv. My eyelids were heavy and my vision dark around the edges. As if peering through a tunnel, I could catch a glimpse of Ulaz’s face and remember. Then I was out again. By the time I brought me into a stale, gray room, the drug was beginning to wear off. I was able to focus and hear their voices speaking basic.

“By the Mountains of Daizabaal, what happened!?”

“She was bitten by a patron.” 

“We can only hope that’s all that happened. Prep her.” 

The other voice was familiar and it took me a few moments to place the owner as the doctor, the one who examined me before. His voice was like a distant scream of a bird, like chattering seagulls. I wanted him to shut up. I wanted to stand, to move, but my body felt so heavy, almost numb. My feet touch the cold floor, but I was supported by hands, both flesh and metallic. Fingers pulled the shirt down my legs and plucked the clips from my hair. 

In indoctrination, they strip you naked, taking away barrier or trace of protection. They dehumanize you, make you less than person or sentient being. Once every inch of my skin was exposed, I’m lifted and placed on a table. I tried to move, feeling strength coming back as the drug wore off, but by then it was too late. My wrists and ankles are tightened in place on the table. It’s tilted upward so it’s like I’m reclining on a lounge chair. 

They’re moving around me, shifting and moving like shadows down a long hallway. Purple and red monitors flick on monitoring my vitals. For several terrible minutes, I believed they were going to do some hideous deforming surgery on me. The drug still had hold of my throat, making my scream a dry hiss. 

“I want a guard posted on the door at all times. This one is a runner.” The seagull voice ordered. 

“Her heart rate is too high. Should I give her a sedative?” A new voice inquired, soft and feminine. 

Ulaz. “Yes, but mild. I’ve already drugged her earlier.”

Seagull. “Damn Floentha. We should have started this hours ago.” 

The urge to curse at them choked me. The straps held me in place with a bruising grips. I didn’t feel the sting of another hypo-gun, but I did feel the drug spreading throughout my bloodstream. It was like I was being stuffed with cotton like those poor dead animals in a taxidermist shop, empty and dead. The fear was being pulled down, overcome by a lucid warmth that gave me a surreal focus. I could see the goose flesh on my arms and legs, the metallic discs sticking to chest, stomach, and thighs. 

Feminine. “The headset’s ready.”

Seagull. “Go ahead.”

Something heavy and solid came over my eyes. Small rubbery pieces press above and below my eyes, keeping them open pressure. Hard rubber touched my lips and I gritted my teeth, refusing to take it in. I would have twisted my head away, but the headset kept it in place. The piece pushed between my lips, rubbing against my front teeth and gums. 

Feminine. “She’s fighting the bit.”

Seagull. “If this one wants to fight, then she’d be better off in the arena. Just get it in.”

My nose was pinched and held closed and after revealing I could draw air through my closed teeth, my mouth was forced opened by strong fingers digging into either side of my cheeks. The bit slide in and kept my mouth open and my tongue trapped beneath it. There was a small suction at the edges of it to keep me from choking on saliva I couldn’t swallow.

I don’t want to go into detail about the catheters they inserted into my body as I wouldn’t be leaving this table for a while. Once they snapped the earphones in place, I was deaf and blind despite my eyes held open. A occasionally, a mist would spray across them to keep them moist so I could see clearly the images they forced me to watch. There was a piercing pain at the back of my neck as needles injected a series of chemicals direction into my brain stem. Once everything was in place, my indoctrination began.

Sounds flooded my ears and images filled my eyes. They flashed by so fast I couldn’t tell what I was looking at. It was a stream of purple and black shapes with sparks of red. The sounds was both soothing and disturbing, a constant purring thrummed through my head as fingers crawled through it. I thought my hair was being stroked, but it was the tentacles of the program creeping in through my eyes and ears, changing me in ways that would never be reversed. 

I would black out, but not sleep. They wouldn’t let me sleep. Whenever the sensors detected I was about to fall asleep I was shocked awake. It was like having my skin ripped off in sheets. The program forced me through a series of intense emotions other than fear and pain. I went through periods when I was so happy I was giggling through the bit and, humiliating stages of arousal so intense the seat was slippery beneath me. 

During my lucid moments, I was burning with hate. Oh God, how I hated them all. 

***

I had to get away. I was being changed in ways I couldn’t perceive, but I knew the changes were there at outskirts of my mind. Like I was being sieged from within. 

I tried to escape for the second time. 

They kept me clean and let me walk to keep my muscles from atrophying. I don’t know how long I was being indoctrinated before they rolled back the program. They tested me to make sure the drugs hadn’t burned out my brain and when I showed I could still recognize colors, I was allowed to sleep and eat for longer periods of time. I was given clothes to wear during this time, but only if I asked politely for them. They were simple white shirt and pants with no shoes. 

The Galra female, Clari, ran the cognitive tests. “Show me blue.”

Before me was a holo-screen with circles of different colors. I touched the blue circle and Clari logged my answer. Today, I was wearing the white pajama like clothes she gave me after I asked for them. The first few times I had to go without because I refused play their game. 

“Good, now point to green with your other hand.”

With my left hand, I touched the green circle and waited patiently. I went along with their games, hoping my complacency would lower their guard which seemed to be working. The guard wasn’t there, but the door remained locked. 

Clari turned off the test and the holo-screen blipped out of existence. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, Physician Clari,” I said keeping my voice soft and pleasant, harkening back to my private school days. Yes, Sister Anne. No, Sister Beth. Thank you, Sister Mary. The word sister nearly slipped from my lips whenever I spoke to Clari. 

She gave an affection smile which made her look oddly pretty despite her alienness. She reminded me of the smart girls from school, the quiet good ones that always passed tests and turned in their assignments on time. They never seemed to struggle in class and one of them tutored me in math during study periods. I would almost feel bad for doing what I was going to do next. Almost.

They let me eat meals at the table in the corner of the room, even praised me for having table manners. Maybe humans aren’t such uncouth primitives after all. The diet is a mixed of meats and vegetables with a piece of fruit as a desert. Most of it was good, though offsetting as I’ll bite into something I expect to be salty but will be incredibly sweet or terribly bitter. 

Today was a bowl of soup with green celery like bits floating in a thick yellow cream. There was the usual cup of blue tea. They started giving me only tea to drink when they learned I liked it. I suspected they had spiked it with mild sedatives or calmatives. I took small sips of tea only when I was thirsty and only pretended to drink it when they were watching. 

My eyes followed Clari as she made some notes on a tablet and adjusted the cursed headset. I forced myself to stay relaxed as she headed for the door. Sometimes, I was left alone, but only for a few minutes. I slowly lowered the spoon and wiped my mouth on a napkin with my eyes lowered, raising them briefly to track her movements. As soon as her hand touched the panel, I acted.

Food littered the floor and the tray, metal and solid, echoed when it impacted with her head. She moaned, swaying on her feet and fell against the wall, but still standing. I was tempted to hit her again to knock her out or kill her, but panic took over and I flew through the doors. My bare feet slapped the floor as I ran with every fiber of my being put into speed. I had no plan of where to go as I had been in the room without seeing the outside of it. I just wanted to be away from there. 

Just as common sense strove to handle the situation, klaxons began trumpheting over and over the same wail. To my ears, it sounded like an accusing shriek. 

Escape!  
Escape!  
Escape!

As if they were accusing me of a horrible deed. A flicker of guilt borned and died just as quick as I sought a place to hide. The rooms were locked and wouldn’t open no matter how hard I slapped the panels. I didn’t know whether they were on lock down or refused to admit my non-Galra dna.

I took a left, then took a right. I had no way of knowing which way I was going, but I refused to waste time by going around in circles. I slowed, fearing the possibility of turning a corner and running straight into a guard or sentry. I peered around corners and listened for running feet or shouts for me to stop. I kept going until my chest hurt and my legs sobbed for me to stop. 

When I did stop, I bent double, heaving and heart thumping painfully. My mouth was so dry it was hard to swallow. I had been without any serious activity for God knows how long and my body was making me pay for it. Then, I noticed the silence save for my gasping. They had turned the klaxons off, but why? They haven’t caught me. 

A tremor of terror flicked my spine. Shite. 

I took off, uncaring whether I caught my breath or not, This time, I went slower and actually looked at the walls. What I had thought were blank walls were actually solid doors. Oh, dear God, no . . .they didn’t have to chase me. They simply shut all the doors on this level. And there was no way for me to hide in the wide open halls. Not even a shaded corner. I screamed, slamming my hands against a door, knowing that I had shot my chance. Clari roused the alarm because I hadn’t killed or render her unconscious. My mercy and haste had damned me.

“You can stop running. There’s nowhere you can run or hide.” The woman’s voice reverberated down the halls from speakers I couldn’t see. “If you return to your room now of your own volition your punishment won’t be severe.”

I looked up and down the halls. They were empty, but I felt as if I was being surrounded by invisible pursuers. Could the sentries go invisible? Like the drones on Earth that had cloaking? 

“You’re not returning to your room. Are you lost? I’ll send someone to help you find it.” The voice’s tone was kind, but intimidating, like honey with shards of glass in it. I pressed my back against the wall, listening with my heart in my throat, and I took flight the second I heard approaching footsteps. The voice sighed over the speakers, like wind through dead weeds. “You are making a very poor decision.”

A grind of a door opening terrified me into another sprint and this one completely winded me. I stumbled onto my knees almost gagging on my swollen tongue. I had been stupid again and again and again. I kept underestimating the Galra. I had not been the first women held in these halls and I had not been the first to attempt escape. Containment and recapture was nailed down to an art for them. Lockdown the doors and let me run until I was exhausted and then spur me into running some more to deplete any resistance or fight before collecting me. 

I could barely hear their footsteps over my own ragged breathing. There was five of them, all of them living Galra. Why so many to catch me when I was already exchaused? Why not send sentries? 

It was a lesson, not just for me, but for the new recruits as well. I recognized Takor among them. The top half of his face was covered in the sleek white helm, but I recognized his chin and the crook of his nose. His mouth was set in a grim line and his eyes were hidden behind a visor. The leader was a tall woman with broad features. She was furless with butterfly ears with multiple piercings along the helexes. There were lines around her eyes marking her age and experience. I noticed that she actually had irises I could see in her yellow eyes and they were a flint color like two pieces of charcoal in liquid gold. Her uniform was black and white, marking her superior rank over the others and she walked with a confidant swagger while twirling a short rod like it was damn baton and she was leading a parade. 

“I hate chasing which is why I installed a locked door protocol whenever we have a runner,” she said with the same voice from the speakers. “It’s been quite a while since we had to use it, but those who are prepared are the fortuitous ones.” She regarded me as she would an errant child. “Alright, you had your exercise for today, so let’s get you up and back to your room, alright?” 

I glared at her, refusing to move or speak. 

She looked at me with an air of a scientist logging a result and turned to her students. “See how she’s glaring at me,” she waved the rod at me as it was a school pointer and I was a chalkboard. “This is how you’ll wipe it off her face.”

She shoved the rod into my ribs. 

I had acquaintances with pain. In my girlhood when Dad decided my infractions deserved a thrashing, labor and giving birth to Connor, and most recently, meeting Prorok. What I experienced then was all those agonies melded together doused in gasoline and lit aflame and then thrown on me. Every nerve, spreading from the epicenter of wherever the rod touched, burned with white hot agony. My body twisted and convulsed as I had been taken by a seizure. My flopping hands whacked the floor and I barely registered one of my nails break until I was sobbing on the floor and saw the blood oozing from the torn nail bed. The pain receded leaving me nauseated and my skin twitching along my side, almost numb. She was talking to the trainees and Takor who continued to watch me with no emotion. 

“Any time they look at you like that, then you punish them for it. If they are willing to glare at you, then they are going to do the same to a guest.” 

I drew ragged breaths through my nose, trying keep from throwing up. My vision was blurry and the rows of my fingers on the floor went in and out of focus. The end of the rod slid into view and I flinched when it touched my chin. Pressure was applied until I was made to look upward into the woman’s face.

“Better, but I still see some spirit, which isn’t a bad thing, but in this one’s case, it’s a problem.” The woman peered at me like I was the results in a test tube. It was a both calculating and intrigued. “Already, I can see this one is trouble. She spent her life as a pet, taken care of since the day she was born and probably took her freedom for granted too. She’s still reeling against the chains.” 

I twisted away from the rod, not wanting it near me, but it followed, prodding the hollow behind my ear and then my neck, close to the top of my spinal cord. I froze knowing that if she hit my spine with that much pain I’d be paralyzed. I just couldn’t imagine myself walking after that. 

She kept the rod touching me all as she spoke so casually, as if she was discussing a minor, but distasteful chore. “I keep telling Madame not to be hasty in introducing a new species to Zenana, especially ones as primitive as this, but she never listens. Primitives like this one do not know how to serve Galra, but lets see how quick this one learns.”

The woman bent over me, taking the rod away, but kept it within my sight. She held out a long finger gloved hand, “This one is going to take my hand and walk with me back to her room.”

Like I’m some dog performing a trick to entertain her trainees. The sudden fury thrust back the memory of pain. Without any consideration for the consequences I spat at her. I never had a chance to see whether the spittle landed in her hand or not, because the instant after I did that, my world became pain. The agony would plateau and then crescendo to a new mind breaking high. All of if, I endured for nearly ten long seconds. When it ended, I lay on my stomach unable to move as every nerve in my body twitched.

She must have made some comment as I heard a twitter of laughter through the haze of pain. Then she said, “After disciplining them, they’ll need a few moments to recover. A little space never hurt, but always make sure they can see the hot stick at all times.” Her voice was informative, like a teacher giving a demonstration. “Yes, you have a question?”

“Why not just have sentries take her back to her room?” A male voice inquired. “I don’t see what the benefit is in holding her hand like a kit.” 

By this time, I was able to push myself off the floor, but I could do little more than sit up on my knees. The floor was still spinning and I shut my tight taking slow breaths through my nose, hoping my equilibrium returned quickly. 

“That’s a good question,” the teacher said pleased by a student’s curiosity. “Zenana is different from slave camps. Here, the slaves are given something they won’t find anywhere else: a choice in how they behave, but choices have consequences. I’m giving her the choice to do as I say or suffer more pain. Zecil, stand over there, she’s planning making a another run for it.”

I had managed to get myself into a slight crouch, ready to take off again, but I was blocked of by ‘Zecil’, a Galra of smaller stature compared to the others. I look fiercely back at the woman and she made me pay for it. The rod brushed the bottom of my foot and I twisted so hard on the floor, I nearly broke my back. Pain lanced up and down my leg like sciatica. 

“You’re pretty, but that’s all you are,” the woman said speaking, her eyes derisive. “You haven’t lived under Galra rule long enough to know that defying Galra is painful, but I think you’re intelligent enough to learn. Are you going to take my hand and walk with me back to your room? Or are we going to continue your education?”

“Go to hell,” I whispered.

This time she got me in the stomach, then my lower back, and my inner thigh, though I suspected she was aiming for my crotch. Eventually, I did take her hand and walked with her back to the room I had risked everything to escape. I did catch a glimpse of Takor watching me from down the hall.

Sentries were waiting to striped me and strap me to the table. They foisted the helmet onto my head and started the program and I was dragged down into insanity again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr either my muse RP blog: rebelcourtesan  
> Or on my writing blog: gapspace


	5. The Cell

Claw tips traced my spine from the base of my neck and down to just above my buttocks. My first impulse to scream, is erased just as quickly as it came. I shiver, not in disgust, but from the electrical chills rolling down my back, spreading across my skin like drops of warm rain. A hot tongue touches the soft hollow of my shoulder soon followed by teeth and lips. My chest hitches as I gasp, my brain confused at the ghost sensations. I was sitting in the indocintration chair, but the front of my legs felt the silky texture of satin cheeks and though my back was pressed against the leathery chair, I felt as if a lover was embracing me from behind. 

That’s what the headset did. It sent signals to my brain telling me one thing while my true senses told me another. All the while, a voice murmured softly to me, crooning, telling me in so many words that I enjoyed being touched like this and I was being good by responding to it.

Its subtle; creeping slowly into my head like a parasite making its home. I was taught that I was safe with the Galra. They would protect me, keep me healthy and happy, as long as I pleased them. All my worries and fears would be taken care of for as long as I appeased my masters. Eventually, I began to believe that during my time in the chair.

My breaks from the chair were carefully guarded since my attempt to escape. A guard was always in the room and Clari no longer petted and fawn over me and gone were her pet names. Now I was just ‘she’ or ‘you’ and sometimes ‘it’.

When I wasn’t in the chair, when I was could regain myself, I was furious. Sometimes I screamed and screamed instead of sleeping. I screamed for Dad to come get me, I screamed for Devin to come back to me, and I screamed for Connor to be given back to me. I twisted and writhed, refusing to sleep until I was held down and injected with sedatives. 

I was vicious towards any Galra that came near me, especially Ulaz. I’m ashamed to recall how horribly I treated him back then. I never called him by his name, it was always kat. Stupid kat, dumb kat, ugly kat, nasty kat, and worthless kat. 

I bit him once. He was checking my pulse and examining my pupils when he asked me if I was experiencing any headaches. He might as well have insulted me from the way I, in a sudden fit of rage, snapped my teeth. My teeth couldn’t break the gloves, but not from my lack of trying. He barely reacted, only pulled his hand away from my mouth and ordered that I be given a calmative. 

When I was left in my cell, Takor visited me. He’d speak to me through the door in that low hush tone to keep from being overheard. He visited shortly after my first escape when I was still in pain. 

“Bridget? Are you awake?”

I closed my eyes, wishing him away, far far away from me. I had my back to the door, facing the wall with the blanket tucked around me. I was allowed to have a blanket as there were no ceiling fixtures for me to fashion a noose. 

“I’m sorry for what happened to you. Korinthe loves swinging that damn hot stick of hers.”

Surprise, surprise, surprise, Takor actually apologizing, but he was apologizing for someone else. Not that he had ever committed an offense to apologize for. Had he ever say he was sorry and meant it? He had used the word as a means to placate me and gain my trust, to lead me to believe that he had a streak of decency. 

“If I could have stopped it I would have.”

“Stop,” my voice was like a ghost’s whisper. Thin and wispy, like a haunting ghost. “You stood there and let her hurt me. Just like you stood by and let Prorok hurt me.”

For several seconds, I could feel the shock emanating from him. Then outrage, he burst out, “I had no choice in those matters! Prorok was my commanding officer! He could have had me arrested or thrown out the airlock if I caused trouble. Korinthe controls security in Zenana. She could have me transferred!”

“You did nothing,” I muttered. “You could have killed Prorok or taken me away from him. You could have stopped Korinthe, but you just stood there like a stain on a wall because you didn’t want to risk yourself.”

I could see him bristling outside the door, his mismatched eyes flashing furiously. “This is not my fault. You shouldn’t have run away or been defiant. And if you had trusted me on Earth, then you would never had met Prorok. . .”

“I knew eventually it could come around to this being my fault. If I had let you give me a dicking, then I would be home with my family right now. Is that what you were thinking?”

It was pitch blackness inside my room and I could not see the wall inches from my face. Maybe it was to encourage us to sleep by keeping any distraction invisible, not that there was anything to do in the cells. We slept and ate here until we were taken to indoctrination or training. I felt as if the darkness was pulling at me from within, drawing me deeper and deeper. I would have been afraid before the Galra, but now I quite welcomed the concept of disappearing, to just fade away until I was nothing more than a shadow.

“You may not believe me, but I will get you out of here.”

His voice is like a gnat buzzing in my ear. I wanted to swat at him and brush his lies and platitudes away from me. Later, the next day or the next hour, (I had no way to measure the time back then), he’d come back and speak to me again. To my horror, I found myself anticipating his visits, looking forward the reminder of home hearing his voice brought. Speaking to him only encouraged him to stay, so I kept silent until he left, pretending I was asleep. Once, he became to frustrated with me, he slammed his fists into the door over and over until someone came to investigate. He left before he would have to answer any uncomfortable questions.

Without him for conversation, I was left alone to stagnant in my fears. Sitting huddled in my blanket, my mind drifted back to Connor. I remembered changing him, holding his hands as he learned to watch, and watching him learn words. A cherished memory was of when he first looked at me and called me Ma. He had been sitting on the floor playing while I encouraged him to speak by repeating words at him.

“Block,” I said sounding out each word as I handed him each toy. “Buh-la-ock. Block. Car. Ka-arrr. Car.”

Maybe he wanted to appease me in a way that I would be silent and let him play in peace. He looked at me, his small blue eyes focused and knowing. “Ma.”

The joy I felt then still warms me today. 

What was he doing now? Was he learning his letters and numbers? Was he getting along with Dad? Did he miss me? Did he remember me at all?

The meal trays were brought to me and collected an hour after delivery through a hole in the bottom of the door. If I didn’t give back the tray, my next meal wouldn’t come. I learned that after I tried keeping a bowl and went hungry for nearly two days. Once a day (I presume) an hour after my meal tray was taken, a small bucket of cleaning fluid and a cloth was passed through the hole with instructions to bathe. I undressed and sponge bathe myself, grateful that I was allowed this convenience. And as the meal trays, I returned the bowl and cloth and received it again the next day.

The days bled into weeks, or I believed it was weeks. With no way to measure time, I had no way of knowing. My fears gave way to boredom and ennui. Receiving meals became the highlight of my time as it was something to do other than sleep or drown in memories. I distracted myself by counting my freckles, pacing back and forth, or just singing to myself. I sang songs I remembered from the radio, opening theme songs of shows I had watched, silly nursery rhymes, and even catchy advertisement melodies. I even started reciting Shakespeare, Wordsworth, and Blake to myself to entertain myself.

One day, a voice from an unseen speaker asked me if I would like to have an entertainment vid in my room. I recognized the voice as Clari and she was speaking sweetly to me as she did before I clocked her. It made me even more on guard and I said no. I didn’t want anything.

And she asked me again the following day and the day after. Each time I said no, but it would make me think of what having a vid would be like. It would be an escape, something that could dull my mind without any effort of my own. I could forget the pain for a few hours at a time. I said, yes, I would like to have one.

“Wonderful. To get one, a member of the staff is going to come wash your hair. If you’re good, we’ll let you have an entertainment vid of your own,” Clari promised sweetly. “She’ll be there soon.”

It made me feel better they were sending a woman. I feared they would send a male and he would be like Prorok. 

As she promised, a Galra woman came with a bottle of cleanser and a hair brush. She was pretty with short trimmed fur curled around her face reminding me of Betty Boop. Silver hooped earrings hung from her ears which were slightly bent from the weight, She said I was pretty and asked me if I was going to behave for her. It stung to be treated like a child as if I had been regressed from a married woman to an errant child. I was tempted to tell her no, I was going to scream and pull those damn ear hoops out of her ears and shoved them through her eyes. But I stayed silent as a lassitude coming over me as I slowly nodded and promised I would behave.

Then she set a small holo-vid generator on the floor and showed me how to use it. She spoke kindly like a school teacher explaining a difficult assignment or a nurse describing how to take a new prescription. It was quite simple to use, press the switch on the side and swipe channels with a hand wave. I could even pause and rewind and fast forward with simple hand motions. I could even bring up a list of movies with titles I couldn’t read, but they were all dubbed in Basic. Most of them looked like war movies featuring Galra soldiers facing down alien threats or completing missions that strengthen the Empire. There were others with comedies from other alien races, even some cooking shows exhibiting some bizarre foods. I chose what looked like a romance between non-Galra aliens. 

The bed in the cell was a cushion set in the floor with pillows and a blanket. The Galra woman sat behind me and began brushing my hair while I watched the movie. I was titillated by the sudden change and attention after being left alone and ignored for so long. It was almost overwhelming to be doing something as familiar as watching television again. When the Galra invaded Earth, all entertainment media was shutdown and replaced with Imperial propaganda and information programs declaring new laws.

Occasionally, the Galra woman would spray my curls with minty scented liquid from the bottle and brush the moisture from the roots to the tips. My hair had grown longer since my pregnancy made me too lazy to go to the salon. Eva had given it a small trim when she returned from Italy, snipping off the split ends, refusing to take anymore off; stating she was no hair stylist. Now it fell below my shoulders, tickling the edges of my shoulder blades.

The movie started with panning shots of an alien landscape with soft music. Then it faded to an interior shot of an alien home with stucco walls and houseplants that looked like a cross between roses and cacti. I was drawn further into the plot as the camera focused on a lizard like woman preparing a meal in a clean kitchen. It gave me a sickening nostalgia for home.

The Galra woman began lifting and letting my hair fall across my neck and shoulders, drying out the cleanser. I thought she was going to leave once it was dry, but she stayed and toying with my hair. A strange langor made me uncaring, in fact, I was enjoying the attention. It reminded me of when Eva would brush and style my hair while we watched television after school. I always wished I had Eva’s long dark hair that flowed like water under a brush and seemed to mold itself into whatever hairstyle she aimed for. My hair was just a stubborn shag rug that sprung loose from whatever style I tried to coax it into. 

When the woman’s arms folded around me, I was more surprised than upset by it. She laid down, pulling me with her, spooning me from behind easing me further into a lassitude I had not become aware of until she tried to kiss me. Her mouth sought mine, but instead settled for my ear when I turned away, and it was enough to snap me out of passivity. I wrench away from her, nearly rolling across the floor and upending the holo-vid generator. 

She chuckled, amused, “Maybe next time.”

She left with no further word nor did she seem upset by my rejection. I resumed watching the film until, gradually, the horror of what had happened sunk in. How could I have let her get that close to me? My skin crawled where she had touched me and the next time a cleaning bowl was provided, I vigorously scrubbed myself until my skin turned pink. 

 

***

Having a vid was life changing within the cell and just as educational as it was entertaining. No more was I bored with the only highlight being my meals and bathing. Now I had alien moves and television to pass my long hours alone. I learned that most films from Galra were war stories with a huge slice of propaganda glorifying the usually unseen Emperor and the Galra Empire. Most non-Galra films, which carried what I assumed was a Galra approved sticker in the corner, were usually comedies, romances, or slice of life dramas. Never any critical messages against the Empire. 

Then one day, the meal trays stopped coming. The cleansing bowl came as usual, but no food came. I waited, trying now to panic and bury my hunger in alien entertainment. Hours passed and still no meals. My insides twisted in hunger as I watched the bowl of cleaning liquid slide into the cell, knowing now they were withholding my meals. Why? 

Before long, I learned the reason. 

“Are you hungry?” Clari’s voice came over the speakers, mockingly sweet.

“Yes,” I said looking up at the ceiling as if she was physically there, peering down at me.

“Would you like something to eat?”

I braced myself. “Yes.”

“A member of our staff will come to your cell to spend time with you. If you are good, he will have your meals brought to you . . .”

“No!” I cried, my heart pounding through my chest. “Keep him away from me!”

There was a short pause before Clari replied, “You aren’t hungry enough yet. Very well. I’ll ask again tomorrow.”

My stomach tighten painfully. I would getting nothing to eat until she asked me the same question tomorrow. 

***

I had never experienced such hunger before. I had been fortunate to been born in an environment where my every need was fulfilled in abundance. Even under the Galra rule, I didn’t go hungry. Never before could I have imagined my stomach could turn on me me. It felt as it was digesting itself for want of food.

For nearly three days I starved. 

The second time Clari called with the same question and again I denied her, too afraid to be alone with another male Galra. On the following day, she asked again, and this time I considered it as I become too weak from hunger to rise from the bed. 

“Will he hurt me?” I asked. 

“No,” Clari promised.

“Am I-I supposed to have s-s-sex with him?” Just saying the words made my tongue feel raw.

There was a pause. “No.”

I knew what the true answer was. It was at the edge of her tongue, hanging at the back of her throat, but I knew it was there as if she had said it loud and clear. Not this time. 

There was one more clause I wanted to made clear. It was a falsehood of control, a lie unto myself, but if her acquiescing would make difference. “Not Takor.”

Clari’s reply was pleasant like an instructor pleased with a pupil. “It won’t be him.”

I could see Takor begging on bended knee to be alone with me in this cell. I would rather let my insides eat themselves up before I let him near me again. 

Within the following hour, the door opened and a Galra male arrived. He was the furless type with a thin jawline and pointed chin. His crest was a strip of dark coarse hair, like a mohawk. He stepped into the cell as casually as if it was his own bedroom. In anticipation of whatever he was going to do to me, I wrapped the blanket around me for a layer of protection as if I was a child trying to hide from an abuser. 

Like he would with a feral anime, he held out a canned drink and a wrapped piece of food. “Here. You can have this.”

 

Shamefully, I reacted like a starving dog. I burst from my cocoon of skant safety and grabbed the food and drink from his talons. The food was a chewy protein bar which tasted of nuts and fried bread. It was dry, but I ate with such relish I finished it off in three bites. It took a few tries for me to get the lid off the drink as there was no tab to lift nor bottlecap to unscrew. You had to apply pressure to one end of the top to lift the other end. I managed to get it open on my own just as he offered to open it for me. The drink had a milky texture that tasted of tea. I downed it in several long swallows. I held the last bit in my mouth, rolling my tongue in it to absorbed it in my dry mouth before swallowing. After tipping it back to catch any remaining drops, in a habit of cleanliness, I tucked the paper inside the can.

Eating and drinking even this much was a balm on aches and pains I didn’t know I had. A constant headache faded away, an ache in my stomach mended itself accept the long overdue sustenance, and I felt better, almost stronger. I was so enthralled with the nourishment, I wasn’t notice him petting my hair. Startled, I dropped the can and stepped away as if burned. He told me I didn’t need to be afraid of him and I refused to believe him. 

He told me to find something to watch on the holo-vid. It was harder this time as I wanted to steer clear of any romances or dramas, anything that would give him any ideas that his company was desired in anyway, but I could barely stomach the propaganda of the war movies where Galra were praised for violence and invasion. I settled for a crime procedural drama about two Galra investigators. There wasn’t much procedure or bureaucracy, more like the partners hunting and tracking down the ‘villains’; terrorists or traitors of the Empire. He praised me for my choice by saying he enjoyed the series also and I hoped he wouldn’t think I chose it to please him. 

Again, I felt the languor lingering at the edges. I pushed it away, refusing to relax around and let my guard down. Any moment he was going to want something I was not willing to go along with and it would be like Prorok again.

He lounged on the bed leaving space for me. I stayed by the wall far out of his reach. Again, he said I didn’t have to be afraid, and, again, I refused to believe him. The languor was drifting through me, but I refused to let it lower my guard. I watched him, crouched in the corner with my knees before me as a barrier of flesh and bone. He watched me and I couldn’t tell whether he was expecting me to do something or he was disappointed by my apathy to his presence. Maybe it was the latter. Fuck him. It was either starve or let him in here, he would know that. 

Twenty minutes past, but he remained on the bed and had turned his attention to the vid. The languor was giving me a headache, it was pressing down on my skull as if trying to seep through the cracks. When my eyelids grew heavy, I bit the inside my mouth hard enough to draw blood to keep me awake. My knees had red lines from where my nails had dug into the skin.

Then it came crashing on me. I actually smelled the gaseous drug just before the fatigue overcame me. 

Oh God, I realized then, I was still being indoctrinated. 

My cell was a gas chamber, but it wasn’t poisonous gas they pumped into the room, but drugs that changed my mood at the flick of switch. I pressed my hands over my mouth and nose, but it was already in my system, spreading through my sinus, my lungs, and into my bloodstream and brain. My body slumped against the wall, keening, tears flowing down my face. 

My anxiety evaporated under the heat of a calming warmth. My sudden mood change disoriented me, making me slightly dizzy. I brace against the wall until the vertigo dissipated like thin smoke. Fear and revulsion was there beneath the surface, but far away, like a distant bad memory. 

He motioned for me to join him and I thought nothing of it. I politely sat at the edge of the bed, so as to not invade his space, but he drew me lean against him. I didn’t resist and the thought to do so didn’t even occur to me. In fact, I was comfortable using him as a cushion. His fur smelled clean with a nutty scent and soft like it's just been brushed. I was almost flattered to think he might have brushed it for me. 

He toyed with my hair, tugging a curl straight and watch it coil back when released. He breathed of the nape of my neck and tasted the skin there, not sensual, but more like a dart of the tip of his tongue. I didn’t mind any of it, though a voice was screaming at me from the back of my mind, screaming screaming screaming, but it was like hearing noise underwater, far and low. 

Before he left, he hugged me, brushing his teeth across my cheek and promised a decent meal was coming soon. And as he promised, a large meal was slid into the cell and I ate until I was nearly sick. Drowsy from a full stomach, I went to sleep and woke up to a migraine and fearsome dread.

What were they going to do to me next? Why didn’t they just force me? Why not beat me until I’m too afraid to resist? A method Prorok enlisted thoroughly.

But that wasn’t how indoctrination worked. It works to change my way of thinking, made me want things I would never want, made me do things I didn’t, and think things I would never consider. Subtly, everything done to me had to be my idea and if pressure would be applied to guide me towards that decision, then would heap it on until I broke. 

I thought of Devin, imagining what he would do if he was here. He would never have allowed any Galra to come inside the hell. I could see him blocking the doorway with his body, barring them from me. And he would have figured out how to get the door opened and get us out of here. My fantasy was a warm escape and I let it play out to us bursting through a door into an open field and at the end of the field was my Dad’s house where my little boy was playing on a toddler bike. It would be a race between Devin and I to swoop him up into hugs and kisses, then we would go inside and be safe and together. Then we would tell the story of our escape to Connor when he was older and then to our grandchildren. Takor, the arrest, Prorok, indoctrination, and this damn cell would just be bad dreams left behind in a faded memory that couldn’t touch me. 

The temperature change was slow and gradual and I didn’t notice it until goose flesh broke across my arms and shoulders. I huddled beneath the blanket believing I was coming down with chills until I could see my breath lift in a smokey bloom before my nose. They were turning my cell into a freezer. I forced myself to walk around in a circle to keep my blood flowing as my teeth chattered. 

I waited and Clari didn’t disappoint. Her voice was a gleam of light across ice. “Are you cold?”

“You fucking know I am,” I muttered cocoon in my blanket. 

There was a pause, perhaps surprised or offense by my rough response. Then, her voice just as pleasant as before, said, “A member of our staff will arrive soon. Let him love you and he’ll make you safe and warm . . .”

“Fuck you,” I hissed, rage surging through me, giving me an ounce of warmth and strength to verbally strike back. “I should have killed you. I should have bashed your skull in, you bitch! You tosser! Y-you cunt. . . . slut . . . ” I called her all the names I had ever heard Eva used to refer to women she disliked for which she was particularly vicious in high school.

The silence hung thick with my insults and in response Clari froze the cell, making it unbearably cold to the point I couldn’t feel my hands and feet. I barely slept, too afraid that if I should fall asleep, I’d never wake up. 

Let him love you, Clari said the next day. Let him love you and the room will become warm again.

“You mean fuck me!” I screamed at the ceiling. “Let him mount me and rut me as if I were a bloody dog in heat!” 

Let him love you and the room will become warm again, she repeated as sweet as rancid milk.

“Go to hell,” I hissed.

The last time I had known such cold was when I fell into the ice lake. The cold was in my bones, hurting from the slightest movement. My lips were blue and I only moved from my cold to use the toilet and nothing else. Not even the blanket could take the edge off the cold. 

“He’s going to hurt me,” I moaned the third day. 

No, he won’t hurt you. Would you prefer a woman?

I was confused for a second, before, in a brief respite from the cold, my face flushed. “I’m not gay. I had a husband.” Mentioning Devin brought fresh wave of pain of its own.

Let him love you and the room will become warm again.

I want to say I resisted for days upon days or froze to death before I gave in. There are stories of women who died to protect their virtue or killed themselves before being raped. I was not that strong. 

I said yes.

The room heated up several degrees and shortly after the drugs took affect. Maybe it was to reward me. Maybe it was to make it comfortable for him. I was fully relaxed by the time the door opened. Even though the drugs had dragged me into a lassitude, I didn’t want to look at him. I might scream if I did.

When he left, the room was warm again as she had promised. I grabbed the vid and threw it at the ceiling and screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr either my muse RP blog: rebelcourtesan  
> Or on my writing blog: gapspace


	6. Treatment

“She's stopped eating and doesn’t respond when Clari talks to her.” Dr. Brin sighed, tired and frustrated. “I told Madame Floentha that rushing things will have the opposite effect, but she wouldn’t listen so here we are. And believe you me, we’ll get the blame for this.”

It’s been three weeks since the female had accepted a male. It had gone so well, the male said she was very receptive and warm, even a bit eager to have him. After he left, the female destroyed the vid generator, screamed to drown out Clari’s voice, and refused her meals. The only thing she did almost normally was bathed herself, but she turned her skin raw by all the scrubbing. 

She was taken from the cell and back to the indoctrinating chair where a different melange of drugs, but by the Mountains of Daizabaal, she fought it all. She would be screaming curses at them if it wasn’t for the bit in her mouth. The staff hadn't experienced such a fight from a warrior like race before, but not from such a small and soft creature.

She was finally taken back to her cell in attempts to restart the suggestion phase, but she ignores her meals and didn’t react when Clari spoke to her. They had tried freezing the room again, but the female just lays on her bed as if waiting to die. Likely, she was.

“She’s a lost cause, doctor,” Clari said firmly. “Zenana has no room for such a rebellious spirit.”

“You’re speaking out of bias,” Dr. Brin chastise, but not unkindly. His assistant had received a reprimand after the female’s first escape attempt and a concussion for her troubles. “I don’t understand. It had gone so well at first. Her species are supposed to be very sexually active. I can understand if she preferred males to females, but even if we send a female in, she attacks her.”

The female had thrown her untouched meal tray at the woman’s head and was punished by no meals for three days. When a tray was sent on the fourth day it was ignored and they had to resort to measures to keep her alive. The scans show the female has lost considerable weight despite being force fed. 

“There are plenty of humans on Earth,” Clari suggested. “A delegate can be sent to select a dozen malleable subjects.”

“That would be the pragmatic solution, but the humans have been put on the Restrictive List.” Dr. Brin took a small sip of the caffeinated beverage, a special tea Clari brewed, to clear his head. Like the one, he had brewing behind his eyes. 

Clari’s eyes widen in startlement. “The humans have caused that much trouble already?” Only a handful of races have been put on the Restrictive List within the Empire’s 10,000 year history for rebellion. No alien on the Restrictive List was to be brought to the Heart of the Empire, or any critical areas of the Empire for that matter. 

“Madame made the requisition just before the restriction. So there are only two humans at the Heart. The Champion and this one.” He said distastefully setting his cup down with a sharp rap. “We might have to take more aggressive measures,” Dr. Brin said as he toyed with a stylus, twirling it between his fingers. “We could give her a heavy dosage of drugs to burn away that rebellious spirit or we can take the neurosurgical approach and cut those parts out. A bit crude, but it has worked well in the past.”

“She won’t make it far in Zenana that way,” Clari said. It wasn’t out of any concern for the female. She didn’t want her mentor to lose face with the staff thus bring her own value down. 

Dr. Brin shrugged. “Madame Floentha’s orders were to get her ready as soon as possible. We’re only carrying out her wishes. Thinking it over, it’ll be faster to cause a drug burnout than surgery.”

A third voice made himself known. “Perhaps, you should reconsider a complete personality change. The solution is more simple than you may think.”

Both eyes turned to Ulaz who was sitting in an office chair with one ankle balanced on his knee, sipping from a teacup. After rolling the drink around in his mouth, he swallowed and continued speaking, “You’re judging her based on her planet’s media. You should be considering her culture and background.”

Dr. Brin’s brows rose in bemusement. “Please, elucidate.”

“She comes from a region that is dominated by a religion that forbids premarital sex. They only have sex with their chosen mate and will not divorce. Marriage ends at the death of one or both of the spouses.”

“That’s a bit of a restriction for species with short lifespans,” Dr. Brin commented. 

“It only reveals her youth and inexperienced. She had a mate and child and lost them both recently. It’s a serious loss for most females. Not to mention her first encounter with a Galra was quite traumatic,” UIlaz set the empty cup on the table. Clari refilled it with more tea from a pot next to it and stepped back with her role as a subordinate fulfill. “My point is that she’s overwhelmed and acting out because of it.”

Dr. Brin steepled his fingers, his claws bringing up from the pressure, forming little pricks on the back of his knuckles. “Everything you said makes sense and we are treading unknown territory with a new alien race. What would you suggest?

Ulaz rolled his shoulders as if taking on a new burden. “I want to work with her one on one, privately.”

Dr. Brin lowered his hands onto the table, sitting straight. “Physician Ulaz, that goes against regulations. She has been violent towards staff more than once.”

“I’m more than capable of handling any outburst,” Ulaz said solemnly.

Dr. Brin thought back to how to handle the new recruit the day the female was brought to Zenana. The man definitely had some martial arts training and the female was only a third of his weight and size. “We don’t have the equipment.”

“Actually, I have studied the indoctrination program and drawn up a plan on how it can proceed in my quarters.”

Both Clari and Dr. Brin blinked and glanced at each other. He thought carefully and then said in a very diplomatic tone. “I can’t in good judgment let the female leave this level. She had already tried to escape once.”

“She can’t escape from a sealed room, doctor,” Ulaz stated. 

“Perhaps if Clari was to assist you. . .”

Smoothly, as if soothing a fretting kit, Ulaz said, “Isolation will further aid the indoctrination. She has to be reliant on me, and me alone for meals and drugs. Not a disembodied voice and a cell.”

“You provide a very good argument, but I cannot . . .” Dr. Brin started.

However, Ulaz held up a hand, politely halting Dr. Brin. “Please, consider my proposal. The female has been in a state of shock and terror since she arrived, and even before then. Whenever she seems calm and complacent, she will be planning an escape or an attack. Through my method, she’ll learn that as long as she obeys and respects her masters, she need not fear any unwarranted brutality.”

Dr. Brin’s ears twitched, slightly folding, but flicked straight when he caught himself. What Ulaz was suggesting sounded oddly like taming a feral yepper. Considering how the female has been acting lately, it may not be too far off. With another glance at Clari who appeared just as nonplussed as he, Dr. Brin said, “I take it you’ll take this opportunity to further your own research?”

“Yes, I will admit I have other motivations involved, but I wish not to fail.”

Ah, well, it makes sense now. Ulaz had his research for the Druids and he may be fresh from the military, a Galra who did not accept defeat easily. And he seemed quite confident this could work. “How long?”

“Three movements.” 

Dr. Brin drew a breath through his nose and considered it. Having the female out of their fur for a while would help his stress levels and headache. However, Madame Floentha would be baying at him of why it was taking so long. “Could it be done in two?”

The physician took a moment to think. “Yes, I believe it can be done in two.”

“Will you send daily reports to my terminal?”

“Of course.”

“Very well. When do you wish to start this experiment?”

“Tomorrow, beginning of the cycle. It’ll give me plenty of time to stock up and prepare.”

“Clari will have the female brought to your quarters tomorrow then.”

***

His quarters were on the port side of Zenana, where he had a magnificent view of the Central Command, but it wasn’t selected for the view. This quarters offered a great deal of privacy being the only one down this hall. It served as a living area complete with a bath and kitchen area. He could stay in his quarters for long hours without arousing suspicion. 

In habit, he scanned for any listening or recording devices. So far, Zenana hadn’t deployed such means, but his years in the Academy had drilled the routine into him. Thankfully, there were no rivals or enemies to be found on the pleasure station. Dr. Brin was cordial and respected his rank which came as a pleasant surprise. Ulaz had expected the doctor’s raise his hackles at a newcomer’s interference. Instead, the doctor acquiesces to two movements and Ulaz had been afraid he wouldn’t get three days.

The female was brought to his quarters drugged to near stupor. Her green eyes were glazed over, seeing nothing and everything. Her red hair was a mass of tangled curls that floated over her shoulders. The right nostril of her nose was still swollen and crusted from a previous force-feeding.

Once the sentries departed, Ulaz closed and sealed the door, setting it to chime only and disabled the external and internal speakers. Then he looked the female over. She was so thin the clothes hung off her frame like a sheet over a tree branch and he feared she was going to lose more weight before he was finished.

Taking her gently by the shoulders, he led her to the bathroom where he had prepared a cot on the floor. The bathroom was of average size to a Galra, but plenty of room for a human to lay on the floor and be comfortable. After making sure she was comfortable on the cot, he removed the collar from her neck. Beneath the base of her skull was a red mark where the drugs had been pressurized through her skin. 

“You think it’s bad now,” Ulaz said as he rose to a counter where he laid out several ampoules and a hypo-gun. “I regret to tell you that it’s about to get worse.”

One after another, he injected the detoxicating chemicals into her arm. After laying the fourth empty ampoule on the counter, he waited, counting down the minutes in his head until she started twitching. Her body convulsed, rolling on her back where she began rocking side to side, her eyes wide and mouth opened in either a silent scream or gasping for air. When he heard her gagging, he set her up and hung her head over the toilet, pushing her hair out of the way in time for her to expel everything in her stomach.

When he lay her down again, her face was red, eyes bloodshot, and chest heaving. With a wet cloth, he cleaned her mouth and patted her flushed face. “I wish I can say it’ll be better from now on, but it’s only the start.”

It would take several quintants for medicine to flush the drugs out of her system. Until then, she was going to suffer the withdrawal symptoms: vomiting, nausea, chills, pain, convulsions, and hallucinations. He could monitor her vitals and ease some of the symptoms, but she would still go through the worst of it. 

She was sleeping now. Her sides heaved with her ribcage jutting out beneath the skin. Her skin was a pale color, not the admirable shade from when she first arrived, but a grayish color that reminded him of the ghoulish addicts he had seen during his time on the streets in his kithood.

For the following hours, he monitored her vitals and helped her to the toilet for each vomiting round. Mostly it was dry heaving with some spittle dripping from her open mouth, other times it was a froth which spewed from her throat. After each bout, she had a moment of respite, but the chills and hot flashes soon followed. A blanket was laid over her when she shivered and removed when she sweated. 

By the fourth hour, she began talking in her sleep. Her words switched between Basic and English, sometimes other languages he didn’t recognize. Asseyez-vous, s'il vous plaît. Un serveur sera avec votre bientôt.

When he could understand her, she was calling for her father, a man named Devin, and Connor. There were others Eva and sometimes Takor. She called out to them, sometimes screaming at them, but most of all she apologized over and over. 

“I’m sorry, Devin, I’m so sorry,” she whimpered.

He was dabbing her face with the wet cloth and checked her pulse with his other hand. “Wherever he is, he knows you’re in sorrow,” he told her gently. 

He slept when she slept and woke up when she whimpered or cried. His training had taught him to make the most of what sleep he gained and he didn’t leave her side until the following morning when he drank a caffeinated drink and made a broth for her. It was simple protein powder mixed in warm water which would rehydrate and replenish the fluid and nutrients she lost from vomiting. He also added a small calmative to ease anxiety and stave off panic attacks. He loaded a hypo-gun with an anti-nausea medicine to help her keep the broth down for a few hours. 

She drank the broth, but he had to bring the cup to her lips and pour it between her teeth. He spoke to her, explaining what was happening to her and what little he could do to ease the symptoms. “It’ll take a few more days to burn out the poison they’ve been pumping into you.”

She tried to speak. Her lips barely moved, framing words, but the sound was so slurred he couldn’t understand her. 

“Your body is recovering from detoxification. It’s a procedure to overcome addiction within days, but it’s harsh on the body and mind.” He set the cup of broth down and checked the pulse in her wrist. “You’re doing well, but you have to rest before the next round of injections.”

Again, she tried to speak and this time a low sound left her lips and he understood. “Why?”

Ulaz eased her down on the cot and covered her with a clean blanket. “I want to ask you a question, but I can’t do that with drugs clouding your mind and judgment. What I want to ask of you will not be easy nor to be considered lightly.”

She was asleep before he had finished speaking.

***

The following day, she was still sluggish but more alert. She wheezed through a runny nose and reached towards the bath. Ulaz attempted to ease her back onto the cott, but she pushed away his hand. 

“I want to bathe,” she muttered. 

“Lie down. I’ll sponge bathe you.”

“No!” She rasped at him, her fingers digging into his skin, the tips of her nails would have cut him if they had been sharper. “I can do it myself.”

He didn’t argue with her but helped her. Since Zenana was originally a medical station, the facilities had bathtubs doubled as showers. While furred Galra preferred dust baths, those with thin or no fur resorted to water for hygiene purposes. The tub was square shape, but deep like a pool to the human. 

The human refused to let him help her undress or get into the tub, but he stayed close and caught her whenever she lost her balance or strength in her limbs. The water came up to her chin and she tilted her head back in bliss as the warm water soothed the pain in her joints.

“You can go away,” she told him.

“I can’t leave. You may pass out and drown.”

“That’s my problem.”

“I’ll stay here all the same.”

She grunted, her face twisted scornfully. “Do you like what you see?” If she had been stronger, she would have flaunted herself at him, displaying her naked skin. 

“No, I don’t.” Her flesh didn’t arouse him. Her skin was a sickly pallor, her body was bones with skin stretched over them, and her face was thin and waspish. Green eyes glared at him, red and bloodshot, and tinged with yellow. 

“Are you wanting to fuck me too?”

“No, I don’t.”

She mulled this over. “What do you want?”

“To ask a question, but not yet. When you are able to think clearly, I’ll ask it.”

“Ask now.”

“No, I won’t.”

In a sudden fury, she found strength enough to throw water in his face. It soaked through the front of his shirt and puddled at his feet. He blinked the water from his eyes and closed them when she did it again. 

“You’re a stupid kat!” She yelled, sloshing water at him a third time. She was almost singing like a devilish kit delighting in mischief. “Stupid, stupid, fucked up kat!”

Just as quickly as it had come, the energy left her and she sagged in the water. She watched him dry the water on his face and front before he rose to fetch a towel for the floor. Then once that was done, he collected the wet bedding of her cot and replaced it with dry ones. By that time, she had enough of the bath. She didn’t want him touching her but was too tired to put up much of a fight.

“I hurt everywhere,” she whimpered like a fretful child.

“I know,” he said dressing her in clean clothes. 

“Can you give me something for the pain?”

“I can give you something that’ll help you sleep.”

She was tucked into the cot, a blanket brought up to her chin. Her eyes were large and mournful. “I hate you.”

“I know,” Ulaz said sitting against the wall beside her. 

“I mean I really hate you.”

“I know,” he repeated picking up a medical scanner a nearby cabinet and used it to check her vitals. Slow, but functioning.

“I hate all kats.”

“I don’t blame you,” Ulaz sighed, for the first time betraying an emotion deep in his voice. “A lot of people do and for good reason.”

If she had more questions or more to say, she fell asleep before she could voice them. 

***

I dreamed. I’m in bed and Devin was coming in from work. He’s tired and exhausted but respected my wishes for him not to crawl into bed while he was still filthy from work. I hear him in the shower and minutes later he comes out, his foot silent on the carpet. I roll over to see him and he’s beautiful. Warmth cascades down my belly towards my thighs. I want him.

Connor begins crying from the nursery. Devin turns, saying he’ll go see what the matter is. I see the back of his head. It’s bloody and concave. Blood spurts and tissue pulses from each throb of his heart. 

I scream. Devin looks at me, surprised and asks me what’s wrong. I tell him that back of his looks bashed in. He touches it, meshes his head in the broken skulls bits and brain matter.

“Oh, yeah, this happened,” he wiggled the bloody fingers at me in a gruesome wave. “I’m dead.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered horror crawling through my soul. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah, say sorry enough times and I’ll come back to life,” he said with a sardonic twist in his lips. “I died trying to keep you away from Galra and here you are fucking ‘em left and right.”

“No, no, no,” I shook my head, tears dotting the comforter across my lap. “It’s not what you think it is . . .”

“If you wanted to fuck a Galra so much, then you should have had your affair with Takor. I could still be alive and with my son.” Devin’s eyes darkened with intense fury and hate. “I didn’t want to die, Bridge, I wanted to be the father I never had for Connor. Now he’s growing up without his parents because you want to roll under the covers with something exotic.”

“Stop it! Stop it!” I shrieked, clasping my hands over my ears to block out his words.

Devin pressed a finger across his lips. “You better stay quiet. You’ll wake him up.”

I didn’t notice the warm body next to me until that moment. It was Prorok.

I screamed.

***

Ulaz leaped into action when he heard the scream from the bathroom. He dropped the cup of coffee into the sink and dashed across to the door. The female was sitting up on her cot screaming, eyes glazed like an animal gone mad from terror. 

He was at her side checking her for a seizure or a bad reaction to the detox drugs. She batted wildly at his face, screaming at him to get away from her in English and Basic. A hand caught him across the face. Her nails though blunt left shallow scratches across his cheekbone. When she managed to calm down, she openly sobbed with hands covering her face.

“You had a bad dream,” he told her, sitting against the wall opposite her. He held a damp cloth against his cheek.

“Shut up,” she choked. “Get away from me.”

“Do you want a sedative?” 

“Get away from me.”

“I’ll be in the next room.”

It was many hours later that she managed to sleep again. She spent the next while shivering between each bout of crying. Ulaz stayed and watched over her as she shivered from cold or fright.

***

“Can’t you give me medicine to make this stop?” 

She left the bathroom for the first time in three days. Tired of the bathroom, she wanted to walk around. It was hard at first, her legs had atrophied from being sedentary for so long. She was bent over a cup of broth with both hands holding her pounding head together. 

“You must let it run its course,” Ulaz said. He was standing at the sink washing out a mug. 

It wasn’t just the headache. Aches and pains rattled her body making her feel like an old woman with bad joints. Nausea hovered over her, threatening to seize her by the throat at any moment. But they weren’t the worse. The depression was clenching her sides in a brutal fist. It wasn’t sadness, guilt, nor fear, the just utter pain of her soul. She wanted to sleep, but her body wasn’t tired enough to let her.

“I want a something for the pain,” she muttered.

“You’ll form a reliance on it and we’ll have to start again.”

“Fuck you,” she snapped. 

Ulaz set the clean cup on a drying rack and wiped his hands on a towel. He had become accustomed to her sudden bouts lashing out. An insult there, a crude remark here, and his favorite, the racial slurs. Insert insult kat. She kept saying it as if to spite herself. 

“I can brew a tea that will help you sleep,” he offered.

“No,” she said as sharp as the tip of a knife. “I don’t want to sleep.”

Since her nightmare, she refused to sleep. His first presumption that it was insomnia proved false when his offer of a mild sedative was refused with a nasty insult (fucking kat bastard), an accusation of trying to ‘roofie’ her, and a dire threat that she would tear his throat out her teeth if he tried to touch her. 

The cup of broth was ignored and she laid her head on the table watching him. “What do you want?”

It was a question she kept asking over and over between insults. And over and over, his answer was the same. “When you are through this, I will ask a question and hear your answer.”

She spent the day rummaging through his possessions. Drawers were yanked open and slammed shut. Cabinet doors were spread open and the contents scattered across the floor in loud, ear ringing crashes. He watched her, tired, knowing he would be cleaning this mess himself. “What are you looking for?”

“The collar,” she said throwing a pot across the floor. It rolled, spinning light from its smooth surface, crashed into the wall near his feet, and rattled to a stop. 

“Why are you looking for the collar?” Ulaz asked her, but he knew the answer.

“I want it to make me feel better. Junkies feel better after they get another fix. I want this . . .this . . .” she motioned at her chest and head, “To go away. I want to not . . .not feel bad. Like I’m dying from the inside out.”

“It will pass. You have to give it time. I can speed the process by giving you a detox shot.” 

She scowled, pretty green eyes narrowing like an angry cat’s. “That stuff makes me throw up! And I feel worse. I want the fucking collar it makes me not care.”

Before he could speak, to offer some platitude or reassurance, she threw a skillet at his head. It was so sudden and thrown with such force, if he hadn’t had the training from the Blades, it would have concussed him. He tilted his head to the side just as the pan cleared the space his head had occupied barely a second ago. It banged against the wall and hit the floor, landing next to the pot.

“Where is it?” She screamed, brandishing a glass bowl. 

“You don’t need it,” Ulaz said. He stood with his arms crossed, not angry, but casual as if she wasn’t threatening to throw another missle. 

She threw the bowl, but its trajectory was far from Ulaz. It shattered into pieces against the wall, showering the floor with glass shards. 

“Go get it!” She yanked open a drawer and slammed it shut so hard it bounced back out, shuddering in its runners. She was seeking something, frantically opening and shutting other drawers.

“Sudden rages are part of withdrawal. It will pass.” 

She whirled around holding large clay pitcher. “Don’t mock me! Don’t you fucking mock me, you kat tosser!”

“When you are tired of destroying my kitchen, we can see if you can handle solid foods,” he turned away and left the kitchen. Moments later, the pitcher burst into shards against the wall. 

He stayed in the bedroom and waited. He listened to the continued destruction as more projectiles were thrown and the female screamed and cursed him. There was a mighty crash which made him flinch, but he didn’t worry as the female continued her diatribe. Before her arrival, he had removed any sharp utensils and knives from the kitchen. All she’ll find in the drawers are spoons and sporks. Once the ruckus died down, he waited three minutes before returning to the kitchen. 

As he expected, it looked like a windstorm had swept through amid a Battle Royale. Eating utensils fanned out on the floor from where she yanked the drawer off its runners and flung it to the floor. Pans lay like broken animals and the table was overturned. It was made of durable metal so it must have taken a great deal of her strength to even lift one end.

She was sitting on the floor, her head in her hands with elbows propped on the knees. Her head bobbed with silent sobs, her hair shrouding her face. She didn’t seem to be harmed. He collected the pans from the floor and set them on the counter, taking care not to step on any broken glass or sharp pieces. 

“I’m not like this,” the female murmured with her head still bowed. “I don’t do things like this.”

Ulaz examined a drawer that he knew would never again shut completely again. “I know.”

“No, you don’t,” she moaned. “I was good. I kept my house clean, I didn’t throw things. I never did drugs, not even smoke or drink. I . . . I don’t have sex with strangers. Why did they make me do those things? I can’t remember that man’s face . . . that one that came after the room froze. I didn’t want to . . .”

She was getting upset again. Hands twisted in her hair, clasping her head between them. “I feel like my head is full of cotton. It’s so hard to think . . .”

“Just two more days and you’ll be clean,” Ulaz said, grateful that he had gotten two weeks alone with her. 

“Why are you doing this to me? What do you want?” She begging him to tell her now. If he was closer, she would have grabbed his legs like a child pleading to be picked up. 

And again, he gave her the same answer. Once her head was clear of the drugs, he would ask her a question. For a moment, she looked as if she would burst into tears, but she slowly rose, using the wall behind her as support. Her hands walked up the wall behind her until she was standing with legs straight. Her head swam for a moment and she closed her eyes until it passed. Once she was sure she could walk without falling, she helped him clean up. 

They worked in silence and restored the kitchen to how it was before her meltdown. Anything broken was thrown into a garbage chute. She was exhausted by the time the last dish was put away and she didn’t complain when he led her to a room and into a large bed. As soon as her head touched the pillow, she passed out.

***

Remember those cartoons that open with a sun rising in the horizon spreading light across the land, sometimes a farm or a meadow. The flowers with human-like faces would slowly wake up and the farm animals would peer up at the rising sun, ready to start their day or eat. I imagined the violins or oboe playing a charming tune to greet the dawning day.

When I woke, I felt a jubilance I hadn’t experienced before. Weariness still clung to me and it took an effort to rise, but the desire to do so was there. There was a tightness 0around my stomach, a gurgle surprised me. I wondered if it I had gas until I realized I was hungry. It took a great deal of strength for me to crawl to the edge of the large bed and set my feet on the cool floor. I rested, regained my strength, and stood.

I was only dizzy for a moment and stood still, afraid that if I sat down I wouldn’t get up again. And I needed to get up and walk. An underlying current of energy was propelling me to move. Limbs weak from atrophy were eager to function. I was further motivated by hunger, especially when I smelled something warm and delightful in the next room.

I walked stiffly to the open door where I heard someone moving. The doctor was standing at a counter prepping food. A beverage dispenser burbled as it filled two cups with steaming brown liquid. Coffee. God, I would have kissed the devil just to grab one of those cups right then.

The doctor noticed me and motioned for me to seat at the table. For a moment, I paused, remembering seeing the kitchen littered with plates, cups, and pots. It felt like a dream, but I knew it had been real and I had been the miscreant behind it. Had I really been that feral? I barely recognized that woman.

I sat at the table. My feet dangled a few inches off the floor. Galra chairs were meant for Galra height, I supposed. 

Without speaking, the doctor began setting the table. Two bowls, two spoons, two cups, and even two napkins were set on the table. A pot, the same one she had tried to throw at his head, was set on the table between them. He ladled stew into each bowl and the smell made my mouth water. 

I wanted to grab the bowl and start eating, but the good manners drilled into me since girlhood prevailed. I waited until the doctor was seated too, tearing a bread he had collected from an oven in half. He laid one piece next to his bowl and the other piece next to mine, then he filled the cups with a bluish tea.

A lump rose in my throat. The last time I had shared a meal like this was with Eva in her apartment back on Earth and that felt like a lifetime ago. Another world that existed only in a fond dream. I ate slowly, taking pleasure in each bite of food. The stew was salty with seasoning that reminded me of curry. The bread was soft with tiny round seeds in the crust which gave it a slight crunch. The tea was warm and sweet with a slightly minty aftertaste.

Before long, my spoon scraped the last bit of stew from the bottom of the bowl and the bread was just crumbs on my fingertips. The Doctor ate slower, spooning the food into his mouth in careful motions. When I had finished eating, he said, “Do you want more? Or shall we talk now?”

I was still hungry, but whatever it was that this doctor wanted couldn’t wait. “I want to talk.”

The doctor nodded, laid his spoon in the bowl and scooted it aside with the cup and bread. He folded his hands together, his long thumbs across each other. He reminded me of a doctor having a serious consultation with a patient. “Do you know where you are?”

I swallowed, my body tense as if I should take off running. “I’m not sure. I know I’m not on Earth.”

“You’re on Zenana. It’s an orbiting station in the Heart of the Empire. It’s renown for being a pleasure site for the Imperial Elites.” 

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, my rolling clenching the stew and bread I had imbibed. “When you say pleasure station . . .”

“Zenana provides fine dining, R&R facilities, and pleasant companions known as Courtesans, exotic alien men, and women that cater to guests’ desires.” He never sugar coated anything. He was gentle, but very forward with the truth. 

“And I’m to become one of those Courtesans.”

“That’s the intention. What you experienced since your arrival has been indoctrination to make you docile and complacent. They used subliminal messages, consequences and reward techniques, and drugs to change your mind and personality. You’ve spent the last week being detoxed until you were sober.”

Finally, we came to what I wanted to know more than anything. “Why? Why did you put me through this? Are - are you going to help me go home?”

He was quiet for a moment, studying me with bright golden eyes. I didn’t know then, but he was measuring me up one last time before he took a huge risk and put his sect in jeopardy. “Before I answer that question, I must tell you that not all Galra are not happy with the Empire.”

This took me quite by surprise. Every Galra, from Takor to any soldier on the street, sang praises of the Empire. Humans earned their ire for the slightest comment about it. 

He must have noticed my perplexity and continued, “From birth, every Galra kit is taught how to say Vrepit-sa. Usually, it’s their first word before mother or father. Praising and upholding the values of the Empire is tantamount to being a good and strong Galra. However, there are those who chafe under the strict structures.”

He told me of how many Galra find themselves on the wrong side of the Emperor’s mandates of weakness being seen as an infection. Any Galra displaying weakness was dismissed as a leech, any Galra who showed mercy to enemies was a traitor, and any Galra who questioned the Emperor was killed. 

“I’m with a group that fights to bring down the Empire from within,” he said. “We have a network of spies that pass information to rebel fighters.”

“You’re rebels,” I said slowly. The word rebel brought up memories of Eva and Devin. 

“Yes, we mostly work in subterfuge, sabotage, and Intel,” the doctor explained.

“Why is the Empire still in power?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around what he was telling me. Galra rebels? 

“The Empire has had 10,000 years to spread its poison. Zarkon is as cunning as he is ruthless. Any attempts to dethrone him or assassination has met with failure.”

It took me a moment to figure out whom he was speaking about. I was so used to hearing Emperor Zarkon that the two words just went together. One couldn’t be spoken without the other. He was still talking, but I didn’t listen. I held up a hand and he politely stopped and waited.

“What does that have to do with me? What do you want with me?”

He answered my question with a question, but it was The Question. “Will you join us?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr either my muse RP blog: rebelcourtesan  
> Or on my writing blog: gapspace


	7. Choice

In the last year of private school, students were assigned to career counselors. My counselor was Sister Anne, a sweet sixty-four year old nun with beaming blue eyes. We had a consultation in her office where I told her that I wanted to go into education.

“You want to become a teacher?” She said with amusement as if she heard the same thing from dozens of girls before. “What would you teach?”

“Literature. I have top scores in all my English and Lit courses since Primary. It’ll be easy to teach,” I said with almost a bit too much pride. I was high spirited as I had shared my career choice with Dad the day before and he had backed it wholeheartedly. Back then, anything with Dad’s seal of approval was a sure thing. 

“So you want to teach literature because it’s ‘easy’ for you now?” She had a warm British accent and held her teacup with both hands. She peered at me through the rising steam like a wiseman over incense.

I was a bit puzzled by her question. I had expected her to be happily on board with my choice, not questioning it. “I’ve tutored my classmates and girls from other schools. I think I could teach children to appreciate Shakespeare, William Blake, and Mark Twain.”

“And that’s all well and good, no mistake there,” she said before taking a small sip of her tea. She set the tea cup on the saucer with careful precision. Her hands tended to shake a little and she folded them together on the desk. “Maybe you aren’t considering all your gifts, my dear.”

“I’m sorry?” I said, perplexed.

“I’ve been looking over your transcripts and you have top marks in Foreign Languages. French, Gaelic, Spanish, Italian, and even some Russian. One of your teachers made a special note saying that you can speak the language as if you were born to it. That’s quite a gift you have, Ms. Moore.” 

I blushed, a little embarrassed. I never understood how most people have so much trouble learning a new language. When I listen to a native speaker and watch their social cues, the words just came to me. Why couldn’t everyone do it? “I do my best.”

“That you do, girl, that you do. Also, your aptitude and personality tests show you have a gentle, caring nature. Most girls I see with these results often go into nursing or medical schools. You have the intelligence to succeed there, I believe.”

It was a fight not to flinch or grimace. I had considered nursing, but the thought of being around sick people and dealing with human mess turned my stomach. And nurses and doctors had crazy working hours. The money was great, but you wouldn’t have much of a social life to enjoy it. 

I tried to bow out of it as politely as I could. “Nursing and medical schools are pretty expensive.”

“They are, but there are scholarships you qualify for with your marks. Also, the Church has scholarships for students training to help the less fortunate and spread the Word of God. You’d be worth your weight in gold being a nurse who could translate for the doctors and patients.”

This time, I couldn’t keep my feelings to myself. “I much rather go into education.”

She gave me a sharp look. At first I thought she was offended, but no, it was penetrating look as if she was seeing through me. “When I get my list of senior year students, I say a prayer for each of them before consultations for guidance. He had a lot to say when I brought up your name.”

“He did?” I stared nonplussed. 

“He told me that you’re meant for great things, my dear. He has a plan for you, Bridget Moore, a very, very important plan.”

I felt nervous and a little angry. Was she trying to use God to get me to do what she wanted? That was bit unfair of her. “Did He really say all of that?” It was a struggle to keep my question polite. 

“Of course. And when He speaks, you know it’s important. Ah well, perhaps you being an educator is part of the plan.”

I was deflated, but relieved. For a second, I thought I was going to have to go through medical school after all. If God wants it, then so will my father and adominish any objection I may have about it. I felt as if I had dodged a bullet by the sweat chilling on my brow. 

***

I think to that day now and I remember every word the Sister had said about God’s plans for me. Was this part of the plan? Kill my husband? Take my child away? Rape me? Enslave me? Was that all part of the fucking plan, God?

***

The first thing I noticed about Ulaz, which set him apart from other Galra, was he was unpretentious. He never bragged about himself, simply stated what he could or couldn’t do. Nor did he ever try to intimidate anyone with his stronger stature. He spoke and waited for my response, granting me as much attention as a courtier awaiting an audience with a ruler. 

“Sure, I’ll join,” I promised with a glimmer of hope in my heart. “Just get me out of here.” 

Ulaz was quiet for a long minute. His expression didn’t change, but I sensed regret behind his gold eyes. “If I could take you away from this place, I would, but I cannot.”

My face fell, the hoped died and it was soon replied with growing resentment. “Then why are we talking?”

“You have an opportunity that many have risked lives for. As a courtesan of Zenana, you’ll be among the Elite of the Empire. Commanders, Warlords, and Generals all of whom will carry sensitive intelligence that can be used against the Empire..”

It took me several moments to digest this. It was surreal, completely unreal. “You want me to become a Mata Hari for your side?”

“I’m not familiar with Mata Hari.” His head tilted curiously. If his ears were more animalistic, they would have swiveled forward to catch my answer. 

“She was a dancer who entertained and spied on German troops during World War II,” I said, remembering the paper I wrote for my history class in private school. The topic had been the roles women had in war.

“That is similar to what you will be doing for the resistance.”

I closed my eyes and shivered, “She was caught and executed.”

“What I ask carries no small risk. If you are caught, you will be handed over to the Druids and they will question you with pain.”

A shiver went down my spine. Takor had told me about Druids, though he wouldn’t say much about it and I didn’t pry. There was fear lacing his words when he spoke of the Emperor’s spies and I didn’t wish to learn any more about whatever could frighten a Galra so. 

“Why me? Surely there are others in Zenana who can your spy!”

“Most of them are from races who have never known freedom. Their people have been slaves since their great grandmothers and grandfathers were infants. To them, submitting to the Galra is as part of life as is breathing. They would not believe me or be too afraid to act. You are different as you know what it is to be free.”

“And you think I’m not scared?” I said with anger bubbling in each word. 

“You are afraid, but you are also angry and determine. You fought the indoctrination. You raged and screamed after they had done their worst to you. You’re a fighter, Bridget Walsh.”

He was crazy, talking nonsense, seeings things in me that weren’t there. I was no fighter. I am foolish, naive woman who got her husband killed and destroyed her family. “This sounds like one sided deal to me,” I said hotly. “What’s in it for me if you’re not going to get me out of here? Why should I put anymore of myself in the fire for you?”

“A universe free of the tyranny that ruined your life.” Ulaz said speaking for the first with growing emotion. “You had the fortune to grow up in a world free of the Empire, but can you say the same for your son? He’ll be raised never knowing the freedom you’ve taken for granted.”

I flinched as if slapped. I had been so focused on my losing Connor, I hadn’t what his future would mean. Motherless in a world ruled by tyrants and despots. What if he acts out against the Galra in teenage rebellion like the boys who tagged a groundcar with insults to the Emperor? Those boys never returned. Sickeningly I remembered what Devin had told me of the boy whose family perished in the cabin. How he was just a body waiting to die. And what if Connor grows up and falls in love with a girl a Galra desired? History would repeat itself. He could be found dead at the bottom of a quarry shaft or sent to die in a labor camp. 

And what about Dad? Could Dad keep his temper in check to look after him? He must be chafing under the Galra and what would happen to him if they should arrest him for knocking the shite out of one of them? And Eva? Would she be around to take care of Connor if something happened to Dad? What if she’s arrested or killed fighting the Galra? Who would look after my boy then?

I moaned, suddenly sick with fear for him. “I have to go home to my son.”

“You cannot go home, but you can still protect him from here. You can help us fight the Empire.”

“My friend was a rebel spy. She asked me to join. I didn’t have time to consider it before I was caught,” I said remembering the last time I saw Eva outside the gas station. “I need time . . . I need time to get my head wrapped around all of this.”

“You have a movement - a week, to decide. Then they will come to take you back to the cell to see if you’ve been indoctrinated.”

Shivers crawled across my skin and spine. “They’re going to send another Galra to my cell.”

“Yes.”

My stomach rolled and I forced myself not to remember what happened before they pumped me so full of drugs that basic thought was impossible. “What happens if I refuse?”

He pressed his lips together, a sign that he didn’t want to tell me. “They will use either aggressive drug therapy to make you permanently docile or perform neurosurgery to change your mind.”

I closed my eyes and my hands shook so much I stuck them under the table where they twitched on my knees. “So if I don’t let their man rut me, they’ll either cut up my brain or drown it in drugs? That’s not much of a choice: be raped or lose my mind.” Fury rose in my chest and I clenched my hands so hard my fingers hurt. I focused on him as the representative of all that was wrong with his race and that was a very deep pit “Goddamn you, kats. Your race is nothing but scum. You call yourselves Elites, but you’re all just a bunch of rapists and tossers. Always lying, always killing, always stealing, and always taking whatever you want and to hell to whoever dares say no.”

He accepted my diatribe with no change in his expression. Likely, he was used to facing the ire and indignation of those victimized by his race. It was with a somber voice, he said, “The Galra was once an honorable people. We were territorial and warlike, I grant you, but there were lines we wouldn’t cross. Atrocities that happened today were unthinkable back then. Attacking civilians, enslaving the innocent, and rape were unthinkable crimes back then. It all changed when Zarkon took control. I know it grants very little comfort coming from me, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry my kind has harmed you so.”

It sounded so genuine that I was touched, but only for a moment. How many times had Takor spoken to me with such care all the while he was scheming to have me? And I fell for it time and again. I gave myself a mental shake and harden my heart. “How do I know this isn’t a trick? That this isn’t some sick test or game? Maybe you get off pretending to be some savior and watching me fawn over you with gratitude?”

His shoulders sagged slightly. Was he disappointed? Or tired? I couldn’t tell because he betrayed so little emotion. “I can give you something that no other Galra will give you. Release.”

I furrowed my brow in consternation. “You already said you couldn’t free me.”

“In a way, I can, if you choose this escape.” He was reaching into his pocket and drew out a white bit of paper wrapped tightly in the middle. It looked like a piece of wrapped candy. And like candy, he pulled the ends apart and the middle unrolled to reveal a white bead in the center. It looked like a dull pearl. He set it on the table between us.

“What is it?” I raised a hand to touch it.

“Poison.”

I withdrew my hand. “What?”

“It is painless. You’ll fall into a deep sleep and your heart will stop. They’ll believe you’ve died of an undetected heart disease.” 

I stared at the ominous bead, my heart in my throat. I had wanted to die, many times since I was taken from Earth. In the cell, after the man left, I had considered biting out my wrists till the blood flowed freely. My fear of pain kept my from sinking my teeth into my flesh. I considered banging my head on the wall until I cracked my skull, but I would likely knock myself unconscious before death could claim me. Now I had a sure, pain free way to die, if what he said was true.

“Won’t you be in trouble if I died here in this room with you?” This had to be a trick or a test. I couldn’t believe that he would offer this to me freely, especially if it could cause him harm. Galra gave with one hand while holding out the other for payment and they always looked out for themselves in the bargain.

“Once you fall asleep, I will summon an emergency medical team. They will arrive too late to resuscitate you. I may be dismissed from Zenana, but by then my purpose here will be moot.”

I looked at the poisoned pearl and felt my throat constricted as if the sight of it could kill me. I was hesitating and I didn’t know why.

“God abhors suicide,” I said, repeating a lesson from Bible school. 

There was barely a pause before he responded. “If you are unable to take your life by your own hand, then I can do it for you,” he said gently, as if he were offering to unload a car full of groceries. 

I raised my eyes to see if there were sincerity in his eyes. He reminded me of a tired sad old man. The Galra was far older than I had thought, with maturity lining his eyes and his cheek bones jutting out. He now seemed fatigued, not disappointed, but already accepting my disclination to join. 

“How would you do it?” The question seemed far away, as if asked by third person. I knew it came from me, but I felt so detached from it. 

“A quick twist of your head. You neck will break and you will die instantly. I can do it while you sleep.” He said this with no change in the tenor of his voice or flection of expression.

A shiver started at the base of my spine and spread throughout my body. “You’ve killed people before?”

“I have.” 

“Of course, you have,” I sighed. “You’re a Galra. You’ve probably filled graveyards with poor souls that crossed your path.”

“I have.” 

I didn’t want to know anymore. I pressed my hands over ears until I could hear the blood flow through the palms. “I don’t want to hear anymore. I’m done talking to you. I want to sleep, I want - I just want to be left alone.”

“I understand.”

I burned with sudden hate for him. I was tempted to throw the bowl in his face as I had tried to do with pots and pans. To smash that stoic face and mark it up with blood would please me greatly. I stood so fast my stomach rebelled. I swallowed and forced myself not to throw up. I needed to keep the food I had eaten down to keep my strength, but now I needed to get off my feet before get more dizzy. 

Without a word to him, I went into the bedroom and laid down. 

***

He told me I had a week to decide what I wanted to do. If I was still alive by then, they would take me to cell and I would be raped. It would be the first of many rapes. If I died, then that would be it. No more pain, no more humiliation, and no more fear. 

If I died by swallowing poison, that would be suicide and I would go straight to Hell. 

If you think life is too hard to bear, then think of Hell! Father Brian had preached with fire during one intense sermon. Hell is hundred times, no a thousand times worse than what you can imagine. If you think your life is pain now, then just you wait until the pits of Hell greets you.

Ulaz said he can kill me instead. Would that count as suicide or being murdered? Was I willing to take that risk with my immortal soul?

I tried to pray, but as soon as my knees touch the floor, I stopped. Why should I pray to a god that let his faithful suffer so? Why would God give me back Devin only for me to watch him die days later? I stayed pure and untouched for my husband and now I will be raped over and over. 

Without the drugs, without the fear, I was able to mourn. It was like piece of my soul was stripped off with a carving knife and eaten. Several times, I was tempted to summon Ulaz and have him kill me just to make the pain stop. Yet the words caught in my throat and my chest would hitch as if a great weight was pinning me on the bed. 

Memories came, unwanted, unbidden. Memories of Prorok and the Galra in the cell. They were so contrasting; the terror of Prorok and the sweet pleasure in the cell. Prorok had hurt me over and over, using pain as a means to get what he wanted. If I resisted, he hit me or choke me until I went limp, too afraid to move lest he do it again. In the cell, resisting never came to mind, the drugs kept it away, dampen down any doubts or second thoughts of what I was doing. I embraced that man as eagerly as I had Devin during the year of Galra occupation. He had been gentle with me and curious. He explored me with caresses and I sank my fingers greedily into his fur, marveling at the hard muscles beneath. I wanted to shove the memories out of my head, to just forget they ever happened, but they wouldn’t leave me.

I was convalescencing. I had been shattered and I was slowly piecing myself together. The pieces were slowly coming back together, but like broken plate there were still cracks and it would never be as strong as before. Again and again, I asked myself, live or die? To be or not to be as Hamlet had pondered.

I spent time taking myself apart and examining each piece. I looked back to my girlhood and laughed at myself for blindly following anything I was told. During the occupation, my worst fear was losing our home and now I thought myself silly. There were so much worse things than being homeless and penniless. I cursed myself for my blindness in Takor’s deception and swore I would never give anyone my trust so casually. From then on, they would have to prove themselves worthy of it and even then, I would be critical of anything they said and did. 

When I finally left that bedroom, I was a different woman. My open heart was shut tight, welded shut, and buried beneath a mound of anger and hate. No matter how much I wish, I couldn’t go back and change what happened and what I had done. I could only make certain I didn’t make the same mistakes again. 

***

By the third day, hunger drove me out of the bedroom and I was lured to the table where Ulaz had a meal ready. I heard him moving in the kitchen and could smell the food cooking. I wondered if he set a table for two each time in case I came out and joined him. Without a word of thanks or acknowledgement, I began eating. It was a grilled blue meat which oddly tasted like crab with lettuce like side which crunched like crisps. 

I ate it all and helped myself to another serving and another. I had never eaten so much in my life. Even when my stomach was full, I kept eating and washing it down with water. Hot tears rolled down my face as I knew answer to my question. What would happen once my week was over terrified me, but I didn’t want to die. It wasn’t because I was scared of Hell or had hopes to see my son again. I wanted to live so I could enjoy living. I wanted to eat good food, sleep in a warm bed, and take what pleasures from life I could. The pain of loss was still there and would always be with me, but I could take some comforts. 

“Ulaz,” I said once I was done with eating. I felt so full that if I should move I would throw up. “I don’t want to die.”

“I’m pleased to hear that,” he said. He had not risen when he had finished eating. As if he knew I had something to say, he had waited patiently. 

“I’m not spying for you,” I said as my eyes narrowed, expecting him to protest. “I still don’t trust you.”

“I understand.”

“Stop saying that!” I snapped. “You don’t understand a damn thing so don’t pretend with me. Alright?”

“My apologies,” he said, bobbing his head slightly. “You’re right. I’ve never been in your situation before.”

I ignored his apology and demanded, “What’s going to happen to me? You already told me, but I want to hear it again.”

“They’ll take you back to the cell and test you with another male. Once he leaves, they’ll watch and see if you breakdown as you had before. If you are compliant then you’ll be handed over to Madame Floentha for training.”

“And what does that entail?” I wanted to hear it all. It would be bearable if I knew what was coming. 

“You’ll be inducted as a courtesan, taught proper etiquette, and introduced to potential patrons.”

My heart wrenched and I kept my shoulders straight, refusing to let him see any dismay in me. “And when you say patrons you mean customers.”

“Yes.” He actually lowered his eyes from mine. 

“Zenana is a brothel?”

“It’s not like the brothels you’re thinking of. Your role will be more akin to your planet’s Geisha.” 

Geisha, those painted ladies in Japan? Weren’t they glorified prostitutes? It wasn’t until later when I was able to look it up, that I learned Geisha women were entertainers and hostesses who usually don’t have sex with their patrons. Back then, I shrugged it off as him trying to placate me.

“Will they drug me again?”

“Yes, but it won’t as aggressive if you are complaisant. I’ll doctor the dosages where you’ll me more yourself.”

I considered this a moment. “Do they use aphrodisiacs?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t change those. Everything else you can change, but not those.” I wanted to be so drugged out during sex, I couldn’t think about what’s happening. 

If he was offended by my orders, he showed no inclination. He bobbed his head slightly, “Alright.”

“Are you going to be around?”

“Since this will be considered a ‘success’ then they will likely have me be your doctor.”

“Good. If things . . .if things get too bad, then . . .I’ll want the pill. But only if they get too bad to stand.”

He didn’t say he understood. He simply nodded. “I’ll have the poison on hand. You only have to give the word and it will be in your hands.”

***

I buried my heart. I said goodbye to Devin, telling him that he would always be in my heart, but I couldn’t think about him. If I do, I couldn’t function. I made peace with my dignity and self-respect, as holding onto them would cause me unneeded pain. And worst of all, and the most difficult to do, I bidded my son goodbye. I allowed myself to remember his warm weight in my arms, his little habits, how he played, ate, slept, and called me Ma. 

I didn’t pray to God, but I did pray to my little boy.

I’m sorry. God, I’m so, so sorry, my poor baby boy. You deserve better than me. Please, don’t grow up believing I abandoned you. Be safe, be good, and grow up to be a man like your father and forgive me for not being there to see it.

***

Dr. Brin went himself to collect the female with two sentries on hand to handle her if she should become unruly again. He wasn’t sure what to expect as he had his doubts and hopes blended together in a lukewarm soup of low expectation. He needed to present Madame Floentha with something by the end of the movement as he had sent a lengthy message promising her the female if she would just stop filling his terminal with impatient demands. 

The reports from Ulaz detailed positive changes, but they never gave any detail on what was changing. No changes in drug dosage or behavior only very vague information that seemed to be telling. Now he was here to see the results for himself. 

The door opened revealing Ulaz standing in casual clothing. He looked nonetheless worse for wear save for a set of healed scratches on his high cheek bone. Dr. Brin kept his expression cool, but couldn’t help taking a measure of pleasure in seeing the the talented physician taking a mark for his efforts. 

“Did she give you any problems?”

“She overestimated her own strength,” Ulaz said with barely a flicker of emotion. “She was disciplined accordingly.” 

Dr. Brin’s ear flicked as he tilted his head. It was very quiet. Almost dead quiet. He had an irrational feeling that Ulaz’s brand of discipline render the female dead and it was left to Dr. Brin to explain to the Madame of how she was out a human. It didn’t ease his suspicions that Ulaz was blocking the door as if hiding something from sight. He had an inclination to duck under the other’s arm and see for himself, but he maintained a respectful distance. “Is the female ready?”

“She is,” Ulaz said stepping aside and held out a hand towards a long couch.

The female, alive and well, was sitting on the edge so her feet would reach the floor. At Ulaz’s signal, she stood and came over. Dr. Brin looked at her eyes and saw she was sober, very lucid with darting eyes that lowered as she drew near. He could smell the soap on her skin and her hair was brushed straight. She didn’t flinch or struggle when he gave her a cursory exam, checking her eyes and nose, even opening her mouth to check her breath and tongue. Once he was certain she wasn’t drugged or sedated, he handed her over to the sentries which shackled her. She didn’t offer one word of refusal nor fought with them. She was amazingly complacent, a completely different creature from two movements ago. There was no redness from weeping, sullenness, or even feral outright.

“You’ve actually succeeded where Clari and I failed.” He held out a hand in congratulations, hopefully his fur lay flat around his chest and crest lest Ulaz suspected he had any fears.

Ulaz took his wrist in a firm shake. “I will not lie. She made a mess of the kitchen within the first days of her arrival and she was the one who cleaned it up by the end of it.”

“It’s a wonder she didn’t come out with a broken arm,” he said jocularly.

There was a sudden stiffness in Ulaz’s grip and it came and went so quickly that Dr. Brin wasn’t sure if he didn’t feel the physician's clawtips prick at his wrist. 

Ulaz withdrew his hand and in a neutral voice he said, “Extreme measures were not needed in this case and you needed her unbroken for induction.”

“You think she’s ready?”

“Yes,” Ulaz said without a trace of ego or pride in his work. “Though, I would suggest not overwhelming her. There are scars I’ve managed to smooth over, but are still present.”

In understanding, Dr. Brin nodded. “Yes, of course. We won’t undo your good work with carelessness now.”

***

They did the test again within the hour. She did well and there was no ill behavior since. By the end of the movement, Dr. Brin was happy to report to Madame Floentha that the female was ready for induction into Zenana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr either my muse RP blog: rebelcourtesan  
> Or on my writing blog: gapspace


	8. Mentor

I have no idea what would have became of me if it wasn’t for my mentor, Lellia.

When I left the indoctrination levels I was a rock with sharp edges. I viewed everything with the cold distrust. I even perceived the other slaves as little better than Galra. I kept my eyes lowered, not out of any respect or sense of servitude, but to not let them see the burning hatred in them. I smoldered every time I was talked down to like I was a young child or a dog.

_Isn’t she a pretty thing?_

_We should see what_ Grici _can do with this hair._

_The skin is soft and sensitive. Look at the little bumps._

_So thin, set a special diet for her. She’ll need to gain at least ten pounds before the end of the movement._

Never once, through the ordeal, did they consult with me about anything. What did I like? How was I feeling? Was I comfortable? No, the only time they actually spoke to me was to give orders. Sit down. Be still. Turn your head this way. Stop that. Look up.

I sat on the chair naked and cold while they poke and prodded me. I was a doll being fussed over by girls, but with none of the affection or playfulness. They were all professional and cold. My hair was combed until it glowed, my skin was tested with paints, creams, powders, and makeup, and every part of my body was measured and sized. Every inch of me was inspected and scrutinized with an eye for beauty. From the small pierced lobes of my ears to the soles of my feet.

Then I was given the beauty treatment from hell. They poured a foul-smelling chemical onto my hair to boost hair growth. They rubbed it around with gloved hands while I twisted and keened as it burned my scalp. Then they smeared a goop all over my body which burned as it ate away the top layer of skin. By the time it was hosed off, I was pink and red all over as if I had a full body sunburn, but my skin was smooth and soft like a newborn’s with fewer blemishes. My nails were trimmed and shaped to perfect rounded tips and I was ordered not to chew them. I had never developed the nail-biting habit, but I was certainly tempted to start now. They even cleaned my teeth and polished them until they were pearl white.

When they were finally finished with me I was taken to my room. It was like a dorm with a single bed and a small bathroom. There was a table with a vanity mirror which doubled as a holo-vid projector. Like the holo-vid generator from my cell, I used hand motions and voice commands to operate it. The movie selections were tutorials on proper hygiene and beauty tips. I watched for a while, entertained as a cartoonish figure insisting soap not meant to be ingested as food. Even if it smelled good.

A meal with fine food was delivered which I ate before going to bed. I was surprised by how large and comfortable the bed was. The sheets were dark satin which whispered as it slid over my skin. The pillows carried a musky scent that had a hint of lavender. I wondered if they spritz them with scented water or washed them in fragrant soap. For all, I knew they could be made of a material that carried this smell.

A melodious chime played over unseen speakers awaken me. A feminine voice told me to dress and be ready within ten minutes for lessons. A long white tunic was neatly folded in a nook next to the door. I slipped it over my head and it hung off me like a flour sack. I whipped a brush through my hair several times and noticed the reflection.

“Dear God,” I whispered with trembling lips.

The face was hers: green almond-shaped eyes, long red curly hair, and delicate jaw and nose. Yet, it was a different face staring back at me. My face was almost white and my eyes were hard with a depth that hadn’t been there before my arrest. I had lost so much weight my cheekbones become prominent and my eyes seemed larger. I looked away, horrified that I was losing myself, and changing into someone that wasn’t me.

Maybe that was for the better a cold part of my thought. I’m going to be doing a lot of things that Bridget Walsh would never do.

A sentry was waiting for me and led me down several halls. We were met by another sentry leading an alien girl. Her skin was a soft copper brown with blue rectangular marks on her cheeks and nose. Most eye-catching was the short goat like horns poking through her head wrap. She seemed young, but what I could be mistaking for youth could be the normal appearance of her people. She stood a few inches shorter than me. Her eyes were a soft amber and she was staring right back at me. I quickly averted my eyes, not realizing she was studying me as I was her.

“I’m Cinda,” she whispered in clipped Basic.

“Bridget,” I whispered back.

“What are you?” she asked.

“Human. From Earth,” I watched her eyes to see if there was any recognition in them.

There weren’t, but they were even more curious at meeting a new alien race. “Did your people send you here too?”

I shook my head, “No, I was arrested.”

She looked at me as if I admitted to a having a venerable disease. She consoled me as if I had admitted to doing something disgusting. “Oh. Well, it must not be too bad since you’re here in Zenana.”

Unknowingly, I had started a rumor about me. What I didn’t know was that I was an outlier in Zenana. Not because I was a new species, but because I had been arrested.

Slaves brought to Zenana have been born slaves, given to the Galra as tributes to the Empire by their own people, or sold themselves to escape poverty or debts. Of course, there were some who were brought here against their will, but these were ‘captured’ prizes. I was a pernicious ‘arrested’ criminal. The girl was probably wondering what I had done to be arrested. Destroy sentries? Blow up of a scout ship? Or steal from a Commander?

There was an open doorway where another sentry was leading a man with charcoal skin, hairless with several crests along the scalp, and sharp angular ears. Instead of a tunic, he wore a long kilt or sarong around his waist. He barely gave us a glance as he was ushered inside by a wretchedly familiar figure standing by the door.

It was the woman Galra with the hotstick. I stopped remembering the torrents of pain lancing my body the last time she hit me with that stick. I did not want to go into a room with her. I did not want to go anywhere near her or that stick. Cinda was looking at me intrigued and a bit nervous as if I would fly into a sudden rage. My sentry escort paused a few steps ahead of me along with Cinda’s. They both turned and regarded me with the opaque headbands. One of them ordered. “Follow or be punished.”

“Oooh,” Cinda whispered with wide eyes as if she were a child watching a playmate getting spanked. She even took a step back and towards her sentry so she wouldn’t be mistaken as the delinquent.

The Galra woman noticed the holdup and her eyes landed on me. Recognition brightened her eyes. She pointed at me with a long finger, jabbed it towards the interior of the room, and then tapped her hotstick. I could read her meaning as clear as sharp glass. Get in there now or I’ll light your arse up like I did last time.

I stalked forward, almost moving around my sentry before he proceeded forward. Cinda looked almost disappointed.

It looked like a ritzy elementary classroom. It was all soft with gentle curves and shapes with lighter shades of grey and white. We were directed to sit on the floor on cushions. We weren’t given chairs because we were pets, but since we were ‘special’ pets, we were given cushions. I was directed to a spot between Cinda and another alien woman with long heads tails that entwined braidlike down her back. It was hard not to openly stare at all the aliens around me. I had become so accustomed to the Galra that these new people seemed more alien than they. I was getting some stares too, both curious and awkward.

I sat with my legs crossed and leaned back on my hands. The sentries were standing at the walls watching us as if we might start rioting at any second. There were five women, myself included, and three men. The men were of smaller stature compared to the Galra with slight frames. One was almost had a slender feminine appearance with curved hips and slim waistline. My ignorant self back then believed they were there to appease the female Galra visitors.

A Galra woman stood at the beaming at us like a proud first year teacher. Her clothes were eerily like the nuns from school. It was black with a dark gray habit which rose upward like horns. It covered her body save for her face which was sharp with a thinly pointed chin and a broad nose above white sharp teeth. “Are we all here? Good, good, I’m Mistress Gritha and I’ll be your instructor.”

“Before we begin, you will greet and thank me for the lessons you are to receive for today,” she said with a glowing smile. “Off your pillows and on your knees with heads bowed. Now.”

We shuffled off our cushions, some slower than others to obey. I was the former, tucking my shirt under my knees out of habit of wearing long skirts from before. The floor was cold to the touch and through the thin material on my tunic.

“Heads lower,” she was walking among us, her black shoes clacking on the floor. There was a slight touch on my head and I dipped my head lower. “Good, relax your shoulders. You’re not about to take off running, are you?”

The words were mirthful, but there was a slight warning in her voice. It seems my escape attempt in Indoctrination had made its way around in the upper levels. “No ma’am,” I said, swallowing back what I really wanted to say.

“Korinthe, who was the slowest to obey?” Mistress Gritha stepped away from me and continued walking among us.

“This one,” Kortinthe said from somewhere to the left.

“Please, discipline him.”

“Palen-bol!”

There was a crackle and a scream of agony. I turned my head from my bow and saw the charcoal skinned man writhing on the floor, clutching his side. His face was contorted with tears streaking his face. Korinthe swatted him with the hotstick again. It was powered off, but I still flinched when it connected with his fleshed like a horsewhip.

“Back in position!” Mistress Gritha barked, all joyousness gone. “When you’re given an order you carry it out without thought or hesitation. Back on your pillows and we will do this again until you can all move as one. The last one to obey will be punished.”

We performed the bow several over and over and each time someone was shocked with a ‘palen-bol!’. Mistress Gritha continued walking among us as if strolling through her personal garden. That wasn’t too far from the truth. We were hers to mold into perfect courtesans to serve the Elite of the Empire. Any failures were blemishes on her reputation. I flinched each time a scream filled my ears. I had become sore from moving so fast, but I didn’t dare falter or slow. I already had a taste of the hotstick and I was in no hurry to get it again if I could help it.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, Mistress Gritha was satisfied. She praised us with that same cheerful grin she had when we first entered the classroom. With an edge of warning in her voice, she declared that if she should ever find our greeting lacking, she would have us relearn how to again and again. I rubbed my throbbing calves and dreaded what our next ordeal would be.

But what came next wasn’t bad. It was a brief history lesson about the Empire. The lights dimmed and a holo-projector displayed the lesson as we were lectured. Most of it was what I had already learned from Takor. The Galra began as one of many tribes on the Daizabaal home planet. They warred with each other until a group of Galra warriors carried out a risky attack that won their tribe the winning advantage. They absorbed the other tribes under a single banner of the first Blood Emperor. When the Galra developed space flight they began conquering other planets, the first being Feyiv.

Then Mistress Gritha came to the destruction of Daizabaal. As she spoke, she gnashed her teeth as if still in fury over something that happened so many, many years ago before she was born. “The traitorous Alteans, led by the cowardly King Alfor, attempted to assassinate our Emperor and his wife. When that failed, they destroyed Daizabaal to keep the technology of quintessence for themselves. Emperor Zarkon rallied his people and we avenged our home planet by destroying the Altean homeworld. Their people scattered across the Universe and hunted them down to the last weeping child.”

A shiver crawled down my spine at the thought of genocide. How many races have made the mistake of offending the Galra to be enslaved or destroyed by them? She continued to exalt the Emperor’s deeds of expanding the Empire’s might across the Universe. Holo-project filled the room with a huge astronomical visage of the known Universe. Stars and constellations rolled across my hands and legs while a solar system passed through Cinda’s head. I tried to look for Earth, but couldn’t see among the hundreds - no, thousands - of solar systems and galaxies. I was no astronomer, but I knew enough to understand the Universe was impossibly huge. For Galra territory to be so widespread and to have lasted so long carries so much weight to their might. The weight of my epiphany staggered me. I stared in mute horror as the woman beamed at us and with a flick of a finger, the Universe map disappeared and the lights brighten.

“You are very special, my dears. You have been selected to serve the greatest and strongest of your masters. You will become as precious to them as they will be for you.”

It was a struggle not to roll my eyes. I knew what it is to be ‘dear’ to them. I rather they hate me than lavish me with any of their so-called affections. I might lose a limb next time around. Without making it obvious, I stole a glance at Korinthe. She was standing against the far wall eyeing us. I looked away in time before she noticed my staring and caught the next part of Mistress Gritha’s lecture.

“You have each been assigned mentors to help you acclimate to Zenana and your new roles. They may not be Galra, but you are to obey them as if they were. Any disobedience will be met with dire consequences. For the next movement, you will follow your mentor. You will eat when they eat, sleep when they sleep and serve when they serve if the patron is willing to have you too.”

My stomach clenched and I shoved it down, refusing to give in to the fear again. This was my life now for as long as I could stand it. My new normal. Then one by one, names were called and they were led away by a sentry to meet their mentors. I was the last one remaining and that made me very nervous. Mistress Gritha eyed me for nearly a minute before finally saying my name. I rose and followed my sentry out of the room, feeling both Mistress Gritha and Korinthe’s eyes on me.

***

Zenana was a maze. I was taken up a few levels and then through a myriad of halls each lined with doors. Sometimes we passed a courtesan decked out in silks and satin with jewelry chiming as she walked. My white tunic marked me as a newcomer and they eyed me in passing. Was I a potential rival or someone they could dismiss?

The burgundy carpet was so thick my feet were sinking into it leaving behind footprints. A vacuum roller erased the marks in the carpet making it smooth as glass. The angles were gentled into curves, almost feminine and there was a pleasant floral scent in the air. It wafted into my face as we walked towards a door at far end of the hall. The sentry palm the panel, opening the door, and I was ushered inside.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I certainly wasn’t expecting what was waiting for me with two cups of tea. I stared openly in disbelief, barely absorbing what I was seeing. She, I think it was she, peered back at me with warm welcoming eyes.

“Please, have a seat. I hope the tea is still warm. I wasn’t sure when you would arrive.”

This was something out of Alice in Wonderland. It was a wonder that after everything that has happened to me, that this should be what shocked me the most. I started when the door hissed shut behind me, but I still didn’t take my eyes off the creature who was peering at me with dark eyes.

“You’re a rabbit,” I said dumbly.

A seven foot tall rabbit person was sitting at a round table. Eight feet if you include the tall ears that spread open like vertical receivers. Her fur was a light brown with shots of gold along the breast which was as flat as a boy’s which made me question her gender. Honey blonde hair spilled across her shoulders with a few braids tangled in the tresses. She was topless save for blue skirt which split at her knees revealing long graceful legs. Tucked under her chair were long elongated feet with three toes tipped with dainty claws. She held her teacup with furry hands that had short digits also tipped in short claws.

She blinked at me, confused by my statement. “A . . .rabbit?” she tried the unfamiliar word. “I’m a Lapan.”

“Sorry,” my manners caught up to me at last. “You look like an animal from my planet. It’s a much smaller creature with long ears.”

“And I’m the first Lapan you met?” She didn’t seem offended at all. Amusement danced in her eyes, but it wasn’t malicious as if she were laughing at me.

“Are you a man or woman?” I couldn’t think of any way to politely ask.

“I’m female,” she said touching her smooth chest. She must have noticed I was staring at it. “The women of my kind only have breasts when we’re pregnant and nursing young.” She said nonchalantly as if she had answered this question many times before. “My name is Leillan T’lia.”

“Bridget Walsh.”

“I heard your culture favors tea,” she motioned at the teacups. “So does mine. This is tea brewed from leaves from my planet.”

The tea was a neon lime green color and smelled like jasmine. I raised a cup and took a cautionary sip. The taste was sweet with a bit of a spice which I found very pleasant. I took a deeper swallower and sat down opposite Leilla. “It’s good.”

“Thank you, I would have had some biscuits brought, but I wasn’t sure what you would have liked.”

On the walk here, I had been imagining my mentor to be as brutal as Korinthe or miserly sweet as Mistress Gritha. Leilla was pleasant with her soft silky voice as if she were singing with a chorus. Yet, I was still suspicious and waited for the second shoe to drop. Leilla was part of Zenana and worked for Galra. Anyone associated with them I regarded as if they hid a knife behind their back.

“I heard you had a difficult time in Indoctrination,” Leilla said, watching my reaction. “I was sorry to hear that.”

I straighten my shoulders and stiffen my back. “Then you know I attacked Clari with a tray.”

“Yes, everyone has heard about that,” Leilla said sipping her tea. The teacup seemed to balance precariously in her blunt fingers. “As you’ll soon realize, nothing happens on Zenana without everyone hearing of it. Word spreads faster here than a fire in the grassland on a hot day.”

Did she not notice my veiled threat or did she ignore it? Or she saw no threat from me? She’s a bit taller than Clari and her ears could block a blow from behind. And her being stronger than me wouldn’t have surprised me.

“It must have been a pain to be assigned to someone who attacked an assistant,” I said watching for any sign of emotion.

“Oh, you weren’t assigned to me. I asked to be your mentor.”

Now I was very suspicious. I regretted taking the sip of tea and in paranoid fright, I wondered how long before whatever she slipped me started working. Her ears straighten like twin antennas and she held out a supplicating hand. “Don’t be afraid. I have no plans or intentions of harming you.”

“You chose me because you like a challenge?” I said more dryly than I dared.

“No, I chose you because you need my help the most.”

“Help me by becoming a better whore?” I said bitterly.

“No, to help you survive here.” She set her tea on the table and laid her short hands on the surface. “You don’t realize how high the competition is in Zenana. About half, no, more than half, of your classmates will be deemed failures and sent away to auction and sold off to the Goddess knows where. You have an advantage by being a new and highly sought species. If it wasn’t for that, you would have been sent away for attacking Clari. You’re safe for the time being, but if you don’t collect any patrons, Madame Flo will send you away.”

I swallowed and it felt like I was downing grit. My arms were crossed over my chest, not for warmth, but to act as a barrier between me and her. I didn’t like what she was saying, but I couldn’t help hearing it. “Maybe I want to take my chances elsewhere?”

She shook her head, her ears swaying from the movement. “You do not want that. You’ll have no idea where you’ll end up. It could be a far worse fate than Zenana. At least here, you’re protected and cared for. You won’t go hungry, you’ll live in comfort, and no one can hurt you without paying a heavy price. I have lived in Zenana for nearly thirty of my ninety years and I promise you, your best chances are in Zenana.”

Was she ninety? Galra wouldn’t be the only species with long lives compared to humans. “So what’s expected of me?”

“You’re currently being assessed for now. They’ll want to know what you are best suited for before they allow you to mingle with patrons.”

There was that word again. Patrons. I believed I may have heard it before during Indoctrination, but that was such a hazy memory. Remembering anything before Ulaz sobered me was like pushing through thick cotton. It was hard to remember anything other than when I attacked Clari and ran.

“Suited for what? Fucking? I already know how to do that.” A lifetime ago, I would have been shocked to curse so casually around a stranger over tea, but that time was gone.

“There’s a bit more to it than that,” she said still amiable. “Not to be crude, but if all the Elite wanted was a set of holes, then they could visit any of the countless brothels in the Universe and pay not even a fraction of what they would to Zenana. There are whores aplenty across the Empire, but lovers are special.”

I failed to see what the difference was and I said as much.

“But you do know the difference,” she chided not unkindly. “The difference is there is no affection from the former.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I muttered, dearly wishing I was elsewhere talking about anything else. “Isn’t it the same thing?”

“You don’t have much experience, do you?” she said jocularly.

“More than you think,” I said darkly, fury welling in my heart. The temptation to throw my tea in her face was almost too much to ignore. The thought of Korinthe storming in here with the hotstick kept my hands clasped together.

“I offended you. I apologize,” she said her smile falling. “I was careless and thoughtless when I said that. I am aware of the incident with the Commander. . .”

“How can I have any affection for a race that invaded my world and ruined my life?” I wanted to know. I forced back memories of Devin and Connor. I would burst into tears and not stop crying if I do. “And why do they want that if they could drug me senseless?”

She regarded me poignantly, her dark eyes on my face and frame. I waited for her answer wondering what she was going to say to mollify me. It was going to be very amusing to see how pretty she was going to paint sexual slavery.

“You’re awfully angry and outspoken for someone who had come from Indoctrination.”

A cold sweat broke out across my face. Ulaz must not have been lying about adjusting my drug dosages so I could stay myself. If my mentor suspected that indoctrination hadn’t really taken with me at all . . . dammit, I was letting my anger get the best of me again. I needed to calm down, be demure and meek or they’ll fry my brain.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “This is all so new to me. I’m overwhelmed and confused by this all.”

“Of course. I’ve been a mentor many times before and this is the first time I made such a mess of a first meeting. At these first meetings, I want to build a rapport and friendship with newcomers assigned to me.”

She seemed genuinely sorry and I realized that deep down, I wanted to like her. If I had met her before leaving Earth, I would have accepted her offer of friendship. She was the friendliest person I’ve met that hadn’t treated me like a pet. Yet, I refused to let my guard down no matter how kind she seemed. The last alien I befriended landed me here.

“I’m sure you have a lot to teach me and I could use the guidance,” I said diplomatically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr either my muse RP blog: rebelcourtesan  
> Or on my writing blog: gapspace


	9. Balm

 

I didn’t sleep well that night. I dreamed I was in the cell again with Prorok, but he wasn’t alone. Leilla was there and she kept telling me over and over to let him love me, to show him affection. I woke up several times and it was a long time going back to sleep each time. Finally, I gave up and sat on the edge of my bed with my head in my hands.

For the first time in a while, I wanted to pray, but I wouldn’t let myself. I refused to give God any second of my time or one word of prayer. I had devoted myself to him and He had let me down. I began to question everything. Did I believe in God because I was conditioned to do so since childhood? Instead of fairy tales, Bible stories were read to me. I went to Sunday school where the same stories were taught. I attended Mass where the stories were explained to me from an adult perspective. I had my own son baptized with a promise to raise him Catholic. Was Faith something handed down through the generations like old family heirlooms?

Maybe there was nothing after death. If there was nothing, then there was no eternal fiery punishment for me to fear. I could die and be done with the pain, grief, and guilt that wracked me.

Yet, I couldn’t accept there was nothing after death. I pondered it, but my heart wouldn’t accept it. There was something waiting for me after I draw my last breath, I wasn’t sure what it would be.

A sentry collected me from my room. I had showered and washed my face with cold water to appear wide awake, but it was like my head was full of thick oil. Everything was slow and my reaction was delayed.

Leilla met me in the hall and talked animatedly at me about going somewhere special. I mutedly nodded and mumbled an acknowledgment when necessary. I didn’t care enough to ask where we were going. I would know when we get there and I was certain I was going to hate it, be scared, or freaked out by it.

She carried a folded blue blanket almost reverently in both hands. It looked frayed at the edges and was faded by many washings. The old thing looked out of place of the opulence of Zenana. I was curious, but I didn’t wish to engage in conversation to find out what it was for. Her prattle became a droning background noise as rode an elevator for a long time. How big was Zenana for an elevator ride to take more than five minutes?

The doors slid open to a long hall guarded by two sentries. Their ruby red visors regarded us coldly until Leilla stepped forward. Their visors flared as they scanned her face and admitted us entry to whatever lay behind the doors.

Leilla lightly touched my shoulder and whispered, “Speak softly or you’ll scare them. Some of them are nervous around strangers.”

I was completely taken aback. She couldn’t be talking about Galra, could she? When the doors opened a powdery scent wafted into our faces with the chime of toys skittering across the floor. Several pairs of eyes, not all of them golden, looked up at us. I stared back completely astounded, completely unprepared for what I was seeing.

Little Galra children of different ages were milling about a nursery. Two little girls were chattering over little purple dolls. A little boy was clutching a rope ball with both hands. He gave us a curious sniff before throwing the ball either to or at another little boy who barely caught it with little-clawed hands.

“What is this?” I whispered, still unable to comprehend why children were in such a place. My blood turned cold as my thoughts turned to dark and horrid reasons.

“These are the children of courtesans and patrons,” Leilla supplied. “They have to be kept somewhere out of the way.”

She told me that despite the powerful contraceptives used, occasionally pregnancies still happen. Most of the time pregnancies were terminated, but sometimes the patron will decide to adopt the child. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I didn’t believe in abortion any more than I did back on Earth, but to have the decision taken from the mother’s hands . . .

“What if the courtesan doesn’t want the abortion?” I asked.

Leilla gave me an almost sad look. “She has no choice in the matter. She either agrees to it or be punished.”

“And what happens to these children?”

We were sitting down in small chairs watching the play area. The kids were more interested in play than they were staring at us. Some of them were wrestling on the floor scratching and biting like kittens. A light pink drone floated overhead crooning at them with melodious songs. The children all had Galra appearance with claws and sharp teeth, but in each of them, I saw something non-Galra. One had tails swinging from her head, another had green fur, and one had an extra arm.

“These children are too young to join the Academies. Once they are old enough, their fathers will either move them to their estates or ship them off to a school for half-breeds.”

“And what about their mothers?” I spotted another drone, this one white, carrying several containers in an undercarriage. The kids stopped playing and started eyeing the drone in anticipation.

“Their mothers are the property of Zenana. They will remain here unless the fathers decide to buy them and bring them along.”

A cold shudder rippled along my spine as I remembered being separated from Connor. To know that other women are going through the same was depressing.

A thin ribbon of light passed over the children from a small scope beneath the drone. Then it drifted towards a little girl chewing on a ropey toy which she dropped to open her arms wide. Her little hands open and close in excitement. The drone dispensed a container into the little girl's hands and I saw that it had a nipple on the top, a milk bottle. She upturned it and sucked hungrily. The other children were eyeing her with envious hungry stares. Others were watching the drone as it made another delivery to another child.

“I have to go. Please, wait here and play with the children, I’ll be right back.”

I watched her leave, nonplussed by how my ‘mentor’ would leave me alone in a room full of children. She went to a far room which opened upon her arrival and slipped inside with the blanket clutched to her chest. I only had a moment to wonder where she was going because a piteous cry drew my attention.

A little boy who still in diapers was sitting on the floor keening. I couldn’t understand what was distressing him until I noticed the departing drone. A much larger child, old enough to be weaned off milk, was pulling off the dark nipple to guzzle the milk. I bit my lip, a rising urge to intervene was cut short as I stepped back. What did it matter to me that a Galra child went hungry? About time one of them knew what it was to starve and having something taken away. Whatever satisfaction derived from the child’s suffering never came, but I refused to intervene.

I looked over the children realizing I had much in common with their mothers. I had been pregnant when I arrived in Zenana, pregnant with Prorok’s child. If the child had lived, would he have become one of these half-breeds? I shivered, disgusted when I imagined what a child of Prorok’s would look like. I was glad, so very glad, the child had died.

I spotted the drone making another circuit around the nursery. It noticed the crying baby because it was making another delivery for him. Another larger kid was eyeing the drone, lying in wait. Just as the girl before, it provided another bottle to the baby. The poor lad didn’t yet have the hand coordination to properly feed himself as she did. He didn’t get a drop of milk before the bottle was taken from him. The poor baby flung himself backward wailing in misery.

I looked around for a chaperone, a babysitter, or a caretaker. Surely they weren’t letting these kids run around unsupervised bully each other. I saw some mothers sitting quietly in the corner together looking over their own children, but no one watching over the others.

I was outraged, but still, I couldn’t push myself to go the hungry child. No one would stop me. How could I hold an enemy’s child when I couldn’t hold my own?

The drone made a third circuit and dutifully delivered another bottle. A third brat was waiting and the baby whimpered, sitting up, tearful and heartbreakingly hopeful. I turned away. Leilla be damned, I didn’t have to stand here and watch this. I’ll leave this place and wait in the hall with the sentries until she’s finished with whatever business she has.  
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Then I was struck with a thought that froze me in place. If some big kids were stealing milk from Connor, wouldn’t you hope someone would step in?

Within seconds, I turned on my heel and crossing the play area. Just as the drone was depositing the milk in the baby’s waiting paws, I grabbed it and scooped him up. The waiting brat stared surprised and outrage, feeling cheated of milk. He ran away when I shot him a venomous look. The baby wriggled in my arms, squawking and hungry. I carried him to one of the many empty chairs and sank into the cushions.

He yowled until I popped the nipple into his mouth. He pulled on the nipple so hard it was nearly yanked from my hand. I held onto it and tucked him against me to get him settled. Once he realized that I wasn’t trying to steal his bottle, he relaxed, suckling. His eyes peered at me in yellow little slits before closing. A rich, warm purr rippled through his small body making me feel pleasant for the first time in so long.

I spoke softly to him, telling him he was a handsome little boy who was quite hungry because of naughty children stealing his milk. He needed to have milk to grow up strong and I promised to make sure he got it whenever I come around. It was nonsensical things and I found that I meant every word. It wasn’t long before the bottle was empty, but he was fast asleep, curled up to my chest. Patting his back, I settled back, content to take a nap too until I heard a familiar wail.

Another baby, this time a girl. She was a little bit older and was stomping her feet and shrieking as the same brat who was offended by my intervention was swaggering away with her milk. Incensed, I rose, carrying the baby boy with me, I stalked over. The brat, proud of his acquisition, failed to notice me in time before I plucked the bottle from his hands much as he had done to the girl. He stared open mouth before his face crumpled into a scowl.

“Shove off before I thrash you,” I said, channeling my father.

He stuck out a magenta tongue and ran away. Tucking the bottle beneath my chin freed my hand to take the little girl by hers and lead her to the chair. The chair was wide enough for her to sit comfortably beside me. She sagged against me holding the bottle with both hands and suckled with a rich purr. I scanned the room to make sure there were no more victims of milk thievery.

The baby wriggled in my arms and I settled him on my chest, patting his plump rump. He burrowed his face into my neck and tiny clawed hands kneaded at my collar, pricking the skin there. I hummed for him and when the little girl was finished with her bottle, she crawled onto my lap curling up for a nap. I rubbed her back, taking maternal pleasure in the precious weight on my legs and in my arms.

The lulling purrs drew me into a deep dreamless sleep. By the time I woke up, I was rested and more put together. The children were still asleep, but they were joined by a third. Another boy, the same age as the girl, had climbed onto the other side of my lap. He was sleeping with his head against my ribs at an odd angle. It took some maneuvering, but I managed to lower his head onto lap beside the girl’s without disturbing any of them.

Leilla appeared at the door that she had disappeared through earlier. Her face was cast downward, eyes dark and unreadable. When she raised her eyes and saw me, she brightened and came over, tucking the blanket under her arm.

“I see you made some friends,” she said beaming.

“Where are the chaperones? All I’ve seen are mothers tending to their children. What the others?”

“Drones tend to the children’s basic needs. They distribute milk and food and a specialized sentry will change them and see them to bed.”

“Right, but I’ve seen several of the larger children stealing milk from the little ones. So they just allow that?”

Her face fell into a sympathetic grimace. “It strengthens the strong and culled the weak.”

Appalled, a clutched the baby tighter to my chest. “That’s barbaric! He can’t grow if he doesn’t get proper nutrition. What about the parents?”

Leilla sighed sadly, glancing at the children playing behind her. “Depends on the mother. If she cares for her child, she’ll be here tending to him and making certain he’s fed. But she has her duties to Zenana and cannot be here all the time. The fathers won’t be seen doting on their half-breed children. It would be considered wasteful when they should be giving attention to their pure Galra children. If these little ones were pure Galra, then yes, there would be chaperones and more care given, but they are not.”

For the first time in a long time, I thought of Prorok’s baby I had miscarried. If he had been born, he would be here fending for himself. Would I had cared enough to see to him myself or would I have pretended he never existed to forget Prorok?

I’m glad I would never find out.

***

Next, Leilla gave me a tour of the lower levels of Zenana. I was shown the long halls of rooms where courtesans, fresh from training, stayed when not entertaining. The salon where beauty treatments for all different races were provided. The common areas where courtesans could visit and relax, and the medical area. She walked with a familiarity of someone walking along the street in their hometown. She called greetings to others, nodded to passersby, and even pause to exchange a few words with fellows. Yet, she didn’t get distracted in showing me around. I have to admit, she was the best tour guide I had ever experienced. No question was too hard or asinine for her to answer with wholehearted cheer and she was generous with advice.

Bending low to whisper in my ear, she pointed out which beauticians knew their craft and would have me looking my best. And which ones to avoid as their skill was dependent upon their moods which were often spiteful or distracted by gossip. I was taught how to gauge the mood of an unilu and how to avoid getting caught up in their petty rivalries. She cautioned me of offending any of the staff as they held long grudges and could easily sabotage me.

I wasn’t certain if I cared about being sabotaged. I didn’t have any aspirations of becoming a ‘successful’ courtesan. Leilla spoke with a grim warning that made me listen. I hadn’t truly grasp just how precarious my situation in Zenana was. My assaulting Clari and escape attempt had already caused enough agitation. As Leilla had said, I remained in Zenana because humans had piqued the curiosity of the Elite. And Madame Floentha was determined to give whatever her clients asked for.

***

I stared at the clothing, unbelieving of what I was seeing.

The last stop of the tour had been the Wardrobe where clothing was created on site. They displayed the Universes latest styles from across the many, many worlds. Leilla told me that I was to be fitted today and it would take a while since my race is so new.

“They’ll want to see how everything fits and what you look splendid in,” Leilla said in girlish cheer.

I couldn’t tell if she was trying to make the experience positive for me or if she was really excited about clothing. I remained mute as she led me up two levels and down a long hall, almost clogged with bins of laundry. Robots, shorter than the sentries, push the bins to and fro, careless of any other traffic. If you weren’t careful or step lively, your foot got run over by hard wheels or you were knocked against the wall.

The Wardrobe looked resembled any dress shop with mirrors and harassed seamstresses. Leilla already knew where to go and guided me through the turmoil towards a side room cordon off for our use.

The room was a small square with three of us, a dais, and a rack of covered clothing, it was quite cramped. Without greeting, preamble, or even a ‘excuse me’, the four-armed blue alien began undressing me. I flinched, shoving my shirt down, but the alien obviously had experience with difficult subjects and had four arms working in unison. The garment was pulled off my body before I could put up much of a fight.

“Pick out what you want to try on first,” the alien said in a surprisingly deep voice.

He, I realized was male, pulled aside the drape covering the clothing rack revealing different costumes. A powder blue 18th-century ball gown hung next to a crimson kimono along with a soft green sari. He turned the rack around and I could see a polka dot flamingo dress, a purple hanbok, and a flowery cheongsam. I had been expecting obscure alien fashion, not traditional clothing from Earth.

“Surprised?” Leilla asked. She had taken a seat in one of the small chairs in the corner of the room.

“Why are there dresses from Earth here?” I asked reading out to touch the ball gown. It felt like silk, but the texture was strange. Almost like a very soft plastic.

“They were crafted here based on designs from Earth,” Leilla explained. “Some patrons might want to see you wearing clothing of your home planet. It’ll give you more of an exotic appeal.”

The blue alien cleared his throat. “We need to hurry this along. I have other tasks I have to attend to before the end of this cycle.”

The next two hours was a dress-up fest. The blue alien helped me whether I needed it or not. The 18th-century ball gown needed all four of his arms working in unison. I was not a fan of the corset which squeezed my middle and shoved my breasts upward, but the other dresses were more comfortable. Once I tried on all the dresses of Earth, I was thrust into dresses from other planets. I wore robes, gowns, tunics, and even tabards. Each time he finished dressing me, he made notes in a tablet clipped to his belt. Then helped to take it off and deposit the next garment on me.

By the time we were through, I was quite hungry, almost starving. Leilla took me back to her room where warm soup was delivered by a robot pushing a cart. As we ate, she continued to advise me and gave me tips.

“Always be polite with the staff,” she said. “Never be demanding, impatient, or dismissive. Makeup, hair, wardrobe, they all can ruin you without much effort.”

“How?”

“A courtesan must look perfect for her patron. Anything out of place could be seen as an insult. A wardrobe malfunction, a hair out of place, or even smeared makeup could lose you a patron. Losing patrons can cost you dearly.”

“How many patrons do you have?”

“Thirty-five.”

I choked on my soup. The purple mesh cream caught in my throat and I coughed into a napkin leaving smears on it. After wiping my mouth, I croaked, “How can you serve that many men?”

Leilla gave me an amused smile, “Not at the same time, I assure you. Most of them are away on campaigns or military duties. There’s about five I see in regular intervals because they are stationed close by. Though, it can get a bit busy for me when several of them are on the same campaign that ends and they are all given leave.”

I set the napkin down and curled my hand around it in a fist. “I’m surprised Galra are so willing to share.”

“The ones who aren't going somewhere else. It’ll be very rare when you’ll service two patrons at a time. Most prefer privacy and being alone to relax and enjoy themselves. However, it’s not unheard of for a patron to outright buy a courtesan, but the fees are quite large.”

“So how many patrons do I need to get to stay in Zenana?” I felt my stomach clench at the thought, but I needed to know.

“Right now you’re in training and being assessed. So for not, you shouldn’t worry, but once you are introduced. You’ll start at the lowest level as a servant. Your duties will be serving meals at parties, tend to baths, and dancing. You’ll need to take these opportunities to attract patrons. Once you gain five, you’ll go up to the next level.”

“So five is the lowest?” I tried to imagine sleeping with five different men and couldn’t.

Leilla chewed her lower lip, her nose wrinkling just like a rabbit’s for a moment. “Yes, but you’ll want to go higher to secure your place in Zenana. You don’t want to stay in the lower rungs forever. Successful courtesans at the higher levels can stay on as staff members or mentors after they retire.”

We finished eating and Leilla washed the dishes while I looked around her room. It was comfortable with tall furniture meant for her height. There were decorations of pictures of people from her race. There was a rather wide one with many children standing before a building. They were group together, peering into the camera with innocent grins. It took me a moment to figure out which of these children were Leilla. She was over towards the right with her ears upward, almost obscuring a kid standing behind her.

“Is this your class?”

She looked where I was pointing. “Oh no, that’s my family.”

I saw that most of them had the same soft brown coloring as Leilla. “You have a lot of cousins!”

“Those are my siblings. All 24 of them.”

I stared with my jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

“It was 24 then, but I think the number has gone up to 38. Oh dear, wait, my brother passed away two years ago, so it’s 37.”

Astounded, I had to ask, “From the same mother?”

“I share the same mother and father with the ones in that picture. If you look over to your right, you’ll see a picture of my side-siblings from my father and a little over are the ones from my mother.”

This time I counted. Eighteen from the father and fifteen from the mother. “Side-siblings are brothers and sisters from a different parent? Like step-siblings?”

“Step-siblings? Interesting term, but yes, if that is what you are thinking.” She was drying her hands and watching me with an amused grin. “You don’t have big families on your planet?”

“Leilla, a family with five kids is considered a big family on my planet. You mother had over forty children!? I only had one and I can’t imagine going through labor five more times much less forty.”

Leilla became interested in human pregnancy and delivery. She was as aghast that humans go through nine months of pregnancy as I was over the number of her family’s brood. Lapan’s gestation period was three months and giving birth wasn’t as traumatic or painful. Even though they are usually giving birth to three or more babies.

“If there are no problems labor takes about an hour from start to finish. Mothers’ may experience a bit of soreness for a day or two, but are usually able to resume their daily activities.” Leilla explained curled up on her sofa.

“So they have one hour to get to the hospital?” I was sitting cross-legged in an armchair, my hands on my knees.

“They only go to the hospital if there’s an emergency or experiencing a problematic pregnancy. Most mothers prefer to give birth at home with their family. They’re aided by their mother, sisters, and aunts throughout the birthing process. You didn’t attend to any of your sisters when they gave birth? Or they to you?”

“Leilla, I’m an only child. I have no siblings.”

The rabbit woman’s brows rose and then quickly lowered. “I . . . I see . . . you must have had a lonely childhood.”

For the first time in so long, I almost laughed. She reacted as if I had shared a terrible event from my childhood and she was burning to ask questions. “My mother died when I was very young and my father was so heartbroken that he never remarried. Or been with another woman since.”

“Ah, I see,” Leilla said, comprehension filling in the blank spots our culture clash had created. “But remarrying after a loved one’s death is common, yes?”

“Yes, but sometimes . . .we never get over the lost of a loved one.” I thought of Devin.

Something had been bothering me and I realized what it was. She had family photos on her walls and she spoke of her loved ones without the bitterness and sadness that shrouded my soul. “How did you end up in Zenana?”

Sensing the weight behind my question, she became somber, the mirth fading from her eyes. “My story is different from yours. I have not experienced the same sadness that fills your eyes. I came willingly to Zenana as part of the tribute to the Galra.”

“What happened?” It was none of my business, but the question fell from my lips all the same.

Leilla toyed with one of her heads, rubbing her short thumbs along the velvety inside. “To begin with, my people are more sexually liberal than yours. It’s socially and emotionally healthy to have multiple lovers of both sexes. As long as its consensual, any sexual relationship was acceptable.”

I could imagine quite a few humans seeing things the Lapan way. To have sex with whomever you wanted without public disapproval. I couldn’t imagine willingly opening myself up to such intimacy any just anyone. Devin had been the one and only one for me and he was gone.

“I’m not sure how your religion works, but sexuality is part of our religious beliefs. We believe that sex is a gift from the goddess to bring peace. That sharing of flesh, becoming one in a single climactic moment could bridge divisions between opposing viewpoints.”

“So, your people make love, not war.”

Leilla smiled. “That a very beautiful way of putting it, but yes. The Galra didn’t see it that way. They took my planet three hundred years ago and turned it into a mining colony. My people were scattered, but we didn’t forget who we were. We maintained our ‘make love, not war’ and I believe it gave us both foul and praiseworthy reputations. We eventually founded a colony of our own and we lived in relative peace. When I came of age, I joined the temple to serve the Goddess. As a Dryad of my Temple, I consul and eased loneliness through the joining."

I considered this for a moment. "You were a nun that had sex with worshipers."

Leilla blinked at me. "A nun is . . .?"

"A woman who joins a religious order."

"Then yes, I was a nun who had sex with worshipers. Then Galra came and demanded tribute. I wanted to serve my people by sparing them the pain of losing another home. Along with others, I volunteered to be part of the tribute.”

Intrigued with her story, I leaned forward with my feet on the floor and my elbows on my knees. “That must have been terrifying.”

“I wish I could say I went to them with a brave heart, but I was frightened. As I am sure you can imagine, the Universe fears the Galra. The thought of the Galra coming to a planet is enough to give many a sleepless night for free people. Mothers tell their children that the Galra will take steal them away if they do not behave. And the stories we hear of their brutality would turn fur white as the snows.” Leilla reclined back on the couch, her eyes looking far off, looking at something distant that I couldn’t see. “The Commander of the vessel that took us chose me for his own. I lived with him on his vessel for almost two years before he traded me to a general for a custom gun. I served the general for five years before she died in battle. Then I was given to her next of kin who sold me in the auction houses. It was then a representative from Zenana bought me and here I am today.”

“But you have your family photos.”

“If you have good behavior and your people aren’t fighting Galra rule, you may contact your family. It is one of the many privileges a courtesan of high rank may acquire. I have been exchanging messages with my family for almost twenty years.”

I was silent, almost brooding over her story. “And they aren’t upset that you are . . .here?”

“I’m serving a purpose here by loving the Galra. I help my family by sending them the money I receive as gifts from patrons. I ease the pain and sufferings of my patrons. I spread the joy and peace of the union of one flesh. And I am here to mentor you today. I do not regret my station here. Not because I fear the Galra, but because I believe my Goddess intended for me to be here and I do not fear Her purpose for me.”

She spoke with a serene smile, assured in her belief as I had once been in mine. Sadden and wistful for times when I knew God’s love in my life, I looked away so she wouldn’t see the tears springing to them. I changed the subject to something safer and I had been curious about.

“Why did we go to the nursery? Were you trying to teach me not all Galra start off as bad?”

Her ears tilted as she inclined her head. “I could say that and make you believe me wiser than I am, but no, I went there for my own reasons.”

She wouldn’t meet my eyes and I understood she didn’t wish to expound her purpose. I remembered the blanket and decided that I would not pry. When or if she was ever ready to tell me I would listen.

I liked her. Despite my efforts to keep her at a distance and remained neutral, I couldn’t help liking her. She reminded me of Eva, self-assured, beautiful, but more at peace with herself. She had carried none of the anger that Eva stoked in her heart. That was likely from coming from a loving family. Eva had a sort of bizarre rivalry with her mother and that’s not even touching upon what her step-father did to her.

Leilla rose with a quick shrug as if shaking off my intrusive question. “It’s time for rest. If you like, you may sleep here with me or I can summon a sentry to take you back to your room.”

“Where would I sleep if I stayed?”

“My bed has plenty of space,” Leilla said taken aback. “You don’t sleep in the same bed as your family?”

All my life I had my own room to myself until I married. I had the feeling that Leilla’s people slept as many people that the bed could hold. I could go back to the cell, but being alone after sharing a good day with her seemed dismal. Being around her had been a balm on my soul and I felt better. In the cell, I would be alone with my thoughts and I would be dragged down into despondency and fear.

“I’ll stay.”

***

I expected to experience some agitation at feeling another’s body next to mine, but it was peaceful and warm. She laid a long arm across my waist and held me close as she would a small child. I flashed back to Prorok, but where his fur had been coarse and stank of his musk, hers was soft and smelled of pleasant soap.

“Tomorrow, we’ll visit the nursery again, if you like,” Leilla whispered.

“That’ll be fine,” I replied closing my eyes, content to sleep.

“Afterwards, I’m attending a patron.”

My eyes opened and my throat tighten. “Yes? Will I have to . . .”

“You will assist, but do not fear. He’s not interested in sex with non-Galra. He suffers from a skin condition that makes him itch and scabs from where his armor chafs him. I massage oil into his skin and treat his fur to ease his pains. He’s not a cruel man.”

“Do you have patrons that have sex with you?”

“Yes, I do.”

I stayed quiet for a long time, listening to her breathing. “Do they hurt you?”

“No. My patrons are kind and patient. Sometimes a bit eager, but they have never harmed me. They don’t come to Zenana to hurt people. They have a Universe full of people they can bring misery to, but to Zenana, they come for peace. I want to show you that you’re safe in Zenana.”

She was right, but wrong in so many, many ways.


	10. Walls

The nursery hadn’t changed since my visit the day before. Children were still playing as they had the day before. Leilla brought along her blue blanket and disappeared shortly after we arrived. And like last time, the milk thieves were at it again. I arrived in time to see the brat from yesterday had swiped a bottle from an unsuspecting toddler. He spotted my cold look, he ripped off the nipple with his teeth and downed it like a man dying of thirst. White rivulets trickle down his chin and neck as he gulped it down. When the bottle was empty he gave me a challenging look and dropped the empty bottle. It rolled away from his feet while wiping the mouth on the back of his hand with a smug look in his eyes. 

I ignored him and collected a bottle from the drone and scooped up his weeping victim. I curled up in the same chair as before with her propped on my lap. She suckled as I stroked her baby soft fur and toyed with her feet. Before long, familiar faces appeared at my legs. The little girl and baby boy from yesterday peering hopefully at me. I arranged them around me and the drone came with their milk. I made sure each received a bottle and they could drink without fear of it being stolen. There were a few wistful looks from the older children, but they scurried away when they saw me looking.

It was peaceful for a little while until they had their fill and were ready to play. The baby boy began climbing up me, little claws digging into my clothes and skin. I settled him on my chest, soothing him with little pats on his back and rump. One of the little girls tried to do the same by pawing at my arm. As I hefted her onto my shoulder, the baby boy took one look at her and, not wishing to share me, hissed. His ears folded back and his serene purry face turned into a scowl. Surprised, I nearly dropped them both.

I admonished the boy, telling him to be kind, but he only burrowed his face into my neck and began chewing my hair. Pretty soon I had to contend with the rivalry for my attention. If I began petting and crooning to one, the other two began pawing and pulling at me. They would ‘casually’ nudge or outright kick the other out of the way. Many times I scolded them, even threatening to put them down on the floor if they continued. They only clung to me so fiercely, they drew blood with their claws.

The drone made another milk delivery while I waited for Leilla. The children chirruped happily, so eager to get their bottles they were ready to pull the drone down on them. I had to reach above their heads and collect the bottles and hand them out one by one. They were engorging themselves when Leilla finally returned with the same blue blanket.

“You should have become a Surrogate,” she said beaming at me. “You’re good with kits.”

“I don’t think I have the endurance.” I showed her my scratched arms. “They keep fighting over me.”

“They probably think of you as their mother,” Leilla gave me a wry smile. “The kits tend to be possessive of their parents. Not wishing to share the attention with other kits, much less their own siblings.”

There was a tightness in my throat as I thought of these children being so neglected they adopted me as a surrogate mother only because I cared enough to see they got their milk. We waited until the children had fallen asleep and I quietly slipped away. 

***

Every step we took towards the baths was a nail in my heart. Leilla had assured me I would be safe, but I couldn’t trust her. I knew too well how violent and cruel Galra could be and I didn’t believe her patron would be any different.

I thought I had resigned myself to this, but now I faltering at the edge of a cliff. 

The baths were located in the mid levels of Zenana. The air became humid and almost too hot. Maybe I was swearing because I was so nervous. Like a tour guide, Leila told me about the pools they had on this level. There were an artificial beach and one at sub-zero temperatures. There was even one with a jungle theme for. I listened with half an ear, too nervous to give her my full attention. She had to catch me by the arm and led me through a door I would have walked past.

She patted my face. “I promise you. He is not like Prorok.”

How much did she know about what happened? Did she know the pain and humiliation he put me through? Why couldn’t she understand that I was too afraid to be a courtesan? 

The room looked like a spa locker room with wooden benches and cubicles. Leilla began tugging off her skirt and replacing it with a long white breechcloth. With her fur and flat chest, her change of garments seemed modest, almost safe. Then she motioned for me to change too.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I was still wearing the white shift. A new one was provided after I bathed in the morning so it was fresh and clean.

“You’ll get oil on that. The material is weaved with fibers that will make the oil roll off and it’ll be too hot to wear that.” Leilla explained as she passed clothing from a cubicle marked with a size number and passed it to me.

It was a sarong skirt I tied around my waist and a tube top that left my shoulders and stomach bare. I felt naked and tempted to pull my shift over the outfit and cover myself. As if to get my mind off of it, Leilla taught me how to administer the oil on her arm. I was handed a comb and an oil bottle with a tapered nozzle that drizzled a small amount when tilted. 

“You’ll comb through the fur to find patches of dried. Use the oil to soften them and gently scrape them away with the comb. Don’t worry about the flakes as he’ll shower once we’re finished.”

“What if I hurt him?” I remembered biting Prorok’s hand and what had happened afterward.

“He’s a General of ground forces. He’s accustomed to being injured and experiencing pain. If he raises a fuss over a having his fur tugged a little, then he has no right to command other Galra.” Her lips rose in a small smile and this was the first time I had heard her be even slightly critical of any Galra. “If he does take any offense, then apologize right away and bow very low. They will take pain more readily than they will disrespect.”

She was trying to reassure me, but I was still afraid. “I’m not ready.”

“You are. If I didn’t believe you could handle this simple encounter I wouldn’t let you aid me. If you displease him, then it will reflect poorly upon me as I am your mentor and I asked him to allow you to attend him also.”

The thought that Leilla could be hurt by my actions affected me more than it should. I swallowed, wringing my hands. “And he’s okay with a novice?”

“He’s curious about your kind,” Leilla admitted. She furrowed her brows, her nose twitching as if scenting me. “Bridget, this can grant you a huge advantage when you’re introduced to potential patrons. He will tell his comrades about his experience with you and raise patron’s interest in you.”

Oh God, Leilla thought she was helping me out, but I was about to faint. She didn’t understand my abhorrence of Galra. If she thought that caring for half Galra children would ease my fears, then she was going to learn otherwise.

There was a soft chime and Leilla took my hand. “He’s ready. Take three deep breaths. Please, do so.”

I did. I shuddered on the first breath, but I managed to suck in three lungfuls.

“Do you feel calmer?”

I nodded. 

“I’ll lead the way inside. Don’t say anything unless spoken to and don’t do anything unless directed. Understand?”

I nodded.

“Be very polite when you speak and keep your eyes lower. Can you do that?”

I nodded.

Then Leilla led me inside. The doors opened and I was blasted with hot steam. It was like walking into the fog and I stayed close to Leilla lest I became lost in it. The steam swirled and floated as she walked through it and it clung to my skin and her fur. Eventually, a figure formed in the mist as we drew close.

He was sitting on the edge of a wooden table with fur damp from the steam. He looked up with a single eye, the other a cavernous slash from brow to jawline. He had a tapering torso, broad chest and shoulders narrow to a slim waist and hips. A long tail of hair hung down over one shoulder, black as if drawn by an ink pen. 

Leilla went to him, touching his hands and brushed his cheek with hers. “Did we keep you waiting long, General?”

His single eye rose to Leilla’s face and then over to me. The moment we made eye contact the drugs finally kicked in. Any panic I would have felt melted away under the warm, heavy sensation rolling beneath my skin. It was like getting over a sudden fright and that reassurance that all was well solidified your world. Yet, there was a twist in, a wrongness that plagued me. I would be screaming, running, even crying, but I did feel any need to do any of those. Instead, I quickly lowered my eyes, feeling my cheeks burn with a blush as they did when I was a shy schoolgirl.

“Is this your student?” His voice was rough, almost raspy.

“Yes, General, her name is Bridget.”

He made a sound in his throat which I couldn’t tell was of approval or derisive. Instead, he laid down on the table, unfolding his long bone body and stretched his limbs. “There’s a patch on my shoulder that makes the barrel of my gun look tempting.”

“Yes, General, I will tend to that now.”

Leilla began working on his back and I began with his legs. If he was human, I would say he had psoriasis or dandruff. I could feel the larger patches with my fingertips and I administered the oil to easily part it from the skin. 

Without the repose of the drugs, I imagined anyone would find this disgusting, but I found it fascinating. Perhaps my obsession with cleanliness prompted me to do a thorough job. If he was some powerful general then why can’t he afford to get treatment to prevent this problem? Wouldn’t an advanced race such as the Galra have medical care that could handle psoriasis or any skin problem?

It was nearly three hours before we finished. He had rolled onto his back halfway through and we meticulously freed him of any and all dry skin and scabs. I had been a bit too careless and had detached a scab that caused him to bleed. Leilla handed me an antiseptic cloth which I held over the wound until it stopped bleeding. I anticipated an angry rebuke, but he barely flinched. I doubted he even noticed that I had drawn blood.

We put away the oil bottles, towels, and combs while he went into a side room and showered. When he rose from the table, he rolled his shoulders and felt his chest and torso and nodded in approval. He affectionately patted Leilla’s arm and departed for the showers. 

“What’s next?” I whispered.

“If he dismisses us, we’ll return to my room and talk. He may want to relax a bit and enjoy not feeling itchy for a little while. We’ll see.”

He returned, fur damp and hair clinging to his neck. He was coiling it back into a ponytail and his single eye regarded us thoughtfully. “Is the sunroom available?” 

“It will only take me a few moments to check, General,” Leilla said with a slight bow.

He leaned a hip against the table switching his singular gaze from Leilla to me. He held out a hand towards me and my heart skipped a beat. I was standing at Leilla’s elbow and it was all I could do to keep from hiding behind her. I was more acutely aware of my dishabille state. But then, he didn’t have a stitch of clothing.

I stepped forward and into his hands. He tilted my head back, claw tips pricked my cheeks and scalp. He leaned in, his nose inches from mine and he sniffed me seconds before he drew the tip of his tongue across my cheek. It was exploratory, not sexual. There was no heat of arousal in his eyes. He shoved both hands through my halo of hair. Claws grazed my scalp and the hair was pulled against the roots as they withdrew.

“The room is ready, General,” Leilla said surprising me. I hadn’t realized she had been gone. Did she leave me alone? 

She held open a dark robe for him to slip into. He tied the sash at the waist and drew my arm through his. Leilla walked at his other side and we left the sauna. We went along a short hall to door Leilla opened and stepped to the side to allow us entry. The room was cast in an orange glow with vibrant yellow furnishes that offset it. It carried the deep warmth of a direct sunlight, even the carpet felt heated to the soles of my feet. 

There were large pillows and cushions surrounding a tall glass. He lowered himself onto the cushion drawing me with him. I settled beside him and watched him take something that resembled a flute from a holder set against the glass. I could see liquid bubbling inside the glass when he took a long pull on the pipe. 

“A hookah?” I heard myself said incredulously at finding something familiar.

“It’s Cindha,” he said in an expulsion of smoke. I could see mirth flitting behind his eye, but it was gone. I feared I had unintentionally offended him until he held out the pipe to me. “Try it.”

I had never partaken in any drugs or smoking before. Telling him so might make it seem I was refused so I took the pipe without a word. The pipe felt surprisingly light and very warm, almost too hot to hold. I took the end between my lips and gave it an experimental drag. My nose stung as vapor filled it and all I could smell was oranges and cinnamon. Eyes watering, I choked on the vapor and lowered the pipe to over my mouth. 

He took back the pipe with a soft chuckle and took a long impressive pull from it. Then with one hand, he drew me to lay across his lap. He was sitting cross-legged and I fitted snugly on his folded legs. When he petted me, I felt like a cat curled up on her owner’s lap to be stroked. 

Again, it wasn’t sexual. It was casual as if he wanted something to do with his other hand and I happened to be it. I peered over my shoulder at Leilla who must have left me alone again because she was carrying a tray with a pitcher and cups. She set it on the floor next to his knee and filled the cups with a peach color beverage. 

“How long will you stay in Zenana, General?” 

“Two to three movements,” he said casually, fingertips exploring the skin along my ribs. I twitched and froze, terrified he was going to be mad, but he chuckled instead, passing fingers over my ribs to elicit another spasm. “This one is ticklish.”

I hoped he wouldn’t start tickling me and he didn’t. Instead, he explored me. Again, it wasn’t sexual as I was expecting. It was like someone petting a dog or a cat for the first time. He traced the outer edges of my ear, rubbed the bottom of my feet, and even looked inside my mouth. He did this all while he chatted with Leilla. Eventually, his curiosity was sated and he laid a hand on my shoulder, giving Leilla his full attention as she refilled his drink. 

And like some domestic cat, I fell asleep in his lap. I can’t really explain why I did. The drugs made me relax and having Leilla there was soothing. I listened to her voice and took peace in having her close by. Despite my best efforts not to trust, I trusted her enough not to let anything happen to me while I slept. 

I woke up when he shifted me awake. He was unfolding his legs, wanting to stand up, but was kind enough not to dump me on the floor to do it. I rose, clenching my mouth close to keep from yawning in his presence. He adjusted his robe, patted me on the head, and said goodbye to Leilla. She bowed at the waist and I copied her. We didn’t straighten until after the doors closed behind the General.

“You did very well,” Leilla said as she set the empty cups upside down on the table. “He likes you.”

He treated me like a pet dog. I kept this thought to myself. “Are all patrons like him?”

“No. Some of them prefer other means of relaxation,” Leilla explained. “Even sexual release.”

I understood her meaning. I had lucked out for now, but eventually, there would be a patron that would want to do more to me than just petting. I didn’t know which scared me more. Having sex with another Galra or that I would be willing to do it? 

Ulaz had done as I had asked of him. He made no changes to the aphrodisiacs in the collar as he adjusted the drugs to prevent my brainwashing. It was up to me to keep up the act of being indoctrinated lest they discover the ruse.

Leilla led me back to the changing room and we changed clothes. She was quiet, thoughtful while she led me back to her room. I was still a bit drowsy and I wondered if I could lie down for a while before moving onto whatever was next on the agenda. 

“Bridget,” she said. Her tone warned me that something was wrong.

“Yes?”

“You’re not indoctrinated, are you?”

A chilled went down my spine. “I am.”

Leilla’s gaze was solemn and almost sad. “I don’t believe you are. I’ve mentored many courtesans before you. I have dealt with shy and nervous ones, but you were absolutely terrified. I thought you were going to run away, you were so frightened.”

It was like hands were around my throat and squeezing. I could see her summoning a sentry to take me back to indoctrination. I would strip down and restrained to the table again. They would force me back into a cell where they would freeze and starve me again. “Please, don’t . . .” 

Should I beg? Would begging confirm her suspicions or should I continue to deny it? I could stand to go back through indoctrination again or worse. If they knew it failed, what if they send me away to somewhere worse? Like back to Prorok? No, no, no, I would rather die than go back to him. Would Ulaz be close enough to give me the poison?

“Be at peace, shilai courstin, I have no intention of reporting you,” Leilla touched my shoulder and for the first time, I realized I was trembling. “Please, sit down and I’ll make some tea.”

She led me to a chair and I dropped into it feeling numb not daring to believe her. I had let myself trust an alien again and she had discovered my secret through my inattention. Shite, why can’t I learn to guard myself? 

Leilla quickly made tea and I watched her, paranoid she would try to slip something in my tea. I had seen her made tea before and thus far she hadn’t done anything I hadn’t seen her do before. She brought the tea over and handed a cup to me. “Drink this and calm down. You look as if you may faint.”

“Are you going to tell them?” I saw no reason to keep up the ruse. 

“No, your secret is safe with me,” Leilla said patting my hand. “I only wanted to warn you that if I can see it, then so can others. You have to overcome your fears so you can survive here.”

Tears fell down my cheeks and I shook my head, “I can’t. You don’t know what happened . . .”

I told her everything. I told her about my life on Earth, the invasion, meeting and being tricked by Takor, Devin’s arrest and death, and losing my son. Then I told her about Prorok and the tears streamed from my eyes. The only thing I held back from her was Ulaz’s influence on my indoctrination. A small, wiser part of me saw the prudence in not betraying one potential ally to another.

Leilla was the perfect listener. She didn’t interrupt or urge me to continue when emotion overcame me. Several times, I stopped speaking only to sob into my hands. She patted me during these moments, let me get control of myself to continue. Talking about Prorok hurt. It was like being in that horrible room alone with him again as I described every blow and humiliation. By the time I finished, I was too tired to weep anymore and I just wanted to lie down and sleep for a long, long time. 

“I shouldn’t be here,” I said. My voice was strained from crying. “I should have died on Earth or Prorok should have killed me. . .”

“But you’re here now. In Zenana,” Leilla said handing me a damp cloth for my face. “You’re here because you have a purpose here.”

She sounded so much like Ulaz that I choked on a snort. “Don’t . . .”

“Please, listen,” she said taking my hand again. “I don’t know about your people’s faith or if you even practice a faith, but my people believe that nothing happens without the Goddess’s will.”

“Everything happens for a reason? Yeah, my faith shares that belief, but I cannot believe that a God I worship so faithfully my whole life would allow this to happen to me?”

“I am not familiar with your God, but if he like my Goddess, benvelot and good, then I don’t believe He let those terrible things happen to your family or to you. But I do believe that He has kept you alive to be here now with a purpose.”

I thought back to when Ulaz approached me to join him as a spy and my insides twisted. “What purpose would that be?”

“That’s something you’ll have to ask your God about.”

“I don’t pray anymore.”

“Maybe you should.”

Her words hung in the air and I turned away, biting back sharp hurtful words. My fear and sorrow had turned to simmer fury. What did she know about religion? What did she understand how God had betrayed me? Who was she to tell me how I should practice my faith?

Was I to believe that God let me go through so much turmoil and sorrow to become a spy for rebels? My husband was a rebel and look where that got him and me. A feather of blame was laid at Devin’s feet and I quickly dismissed it. No, Devin didn’t deserve any blame. He was only doing what he felt he must because of my blindness of Takor’s intentions. If I had been more careful and vigilant then I could have cut things off with Takor before he became enarmor to the point of obsession. Maybe Devin and Eva would have trusted me enough to tell me they were rebels and I could have helped. I could have prevented everything by some action on my part. 

“I have some sedatives if you wish to sleep,” Leilla offered. 

“I already slept,” I said, but I realized that I was feeling the weight of fatigue. My outpouring of emotion had sap whatever rest I had received from napping on the patron’s lap. Yet, I wasn’t ready to totally let my guard down to trust her completely. “Why won’t you tell the staff about me?”

“I’m not indoctrinated,” Leilla said brushing the hair from my face with a short furry hand. “They didn’t have to put me through conditioning because my people are known for non-resistance and our open sexual nature. But I have seen what it has done to others and through no act of my own will, I see someone put through it. There are some who cannot remember their names or the faces of their family because the drugs had burned out their memories so they will not long for the past. I have seen the willful broken down into meek underlings to those of aggressive nature. And good people have become possessive and paranoid to the point they will attack any whom they perceive as trying to steal their patrons. I became a mentor to help those I can.”

She was sincere. I could see it in her eyes and hear it in her words. A doubtful voice reminded me that I had believed in Takor before, but this was different. It was open and honest. With Takor there had always been a singsong undercurrent in her voice as if speaking with a child. It’s the voice an adult would use to warn a child away with a scary warning or empty promises to get them to behave. 

My barriers were falling between us. I kept trying to put them up, but it was like building with a foundation of sand. The walls kept breaking apart under the weight of her kindness. I felt a strong reassurance that I would be alright despite my misgivings. 

I rested but didn’t sleep. She lay beside me with an arm curled around me, tucking me against her. I found comfort in her fur which still smelled of oil and heat. Her breathing was like tall grass bending to the wind.

“Tell me about Devin,” she said.

“I did,” I replied.

“You told me of what happened to him. Not what he was like. Why did you love him so dearly?”

“He was a good man. He was strong, but not like brute strength way. He had an abusive father and he protected his mother and his younger brother and sister. Devin hated bullies and anyone who hurt children or animals. I think if my father had given him a chance, they would have come to like each other a great deal.” 

Talking about Devin brought pain, but it was a good kind of pain. Like cutting open a wound and letting infection drain out. She asked questions about him such as what his favorite foods, what he found funny, and what made him happy. Once I ran out of things to talk about Devin, she asked me about Connor. 

For the first time, I was allowed to grieve in a place I felt safe. I could reminisce my family without heart-wrenching pain and smile again. Leilla knew what I needed and how to provide it. She was determined to help me not only survive in Zenana, but to succeed. She accomplished her goal, but at a terrible cost.


	11. Commander Wroth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up. there are some scenes that readers may find offensive.
> 
> Also, there is some anti-homosexual thoughts from the lead character. Please understand that she is thinking from an ignorant and close minded background and that the writer does not share the same feelings.

By the time my week with Leilla ended, we visited one more of her patrons. He took one look at me and disliked what he saw. I had no fur so laying with me with by like sharing a bed with a cold fish. Thus I returned to Leilla’s room and waited until she returned.

Staying with her had been a respite, but it was only too brief. My week with my mentor had ended and I was taken back to my cell. When the sentry collected me, Leilla assured me that we would see each other again soon. 

Then my training began. I was taught etiquette, how to pour a drink, how to serve food, the proper way to clean a room, and how to severe my patrons. They trained me in how to brush and clean Galra fur, give massages, what to administer when they were hungover or sick, and how to entertain them. 

Korinthe was present for each of my training sessions. Always with that dark look in her eye, waiting for the opportunity to get me with that hotstick. Any hesitation, any sign that I was less than earnest in my training, she lay that stick across my back. 

At least once a week, we were gathered into a classroom where Mistress Gritha would quiz us. If we answered the question to her satisfaction, we got a nod. If we didn’t, we got the stick.

That particular day wasn’t good for me. I woke up depressed and angry, longing for Devin and Connor and hated the aliens around me. I wanted to be left alone to brood, but Madame Gritha wasn’t going to give me that.

She focused her piercing gaze on me and said, “You’ve spilled expensive wine on your patron’s clothing. How do you apologize?”

I wish I could say I wasn’t thinking. I wish I could say that I wasn’t in my right mind. But a part of me tried to reason against the outburst I made, but it was too late for it to make a proper argument. 

“Suck him off until he’s over it,” I muttered darkly, repeating something I heard Eva say in jest.

In two steps, Korinthe was on me with that damn stick. I rolled on the floor trying to get away from it, even crawling on my stomach. She hauled me back by the ankle to shove the stick into my spine. When she finished, I was shivering mess of tears and sweat. Then she yanked me up by the shoulder and slammed me back onto my cushion with a threat to shove the stick down my throat and burn out my insides if I acted out again.

It was after that I realized I was the bad kid in the class. You know the kid in your class that always acts up, talking back to the teacher, causing mischief and mayhem. The one that has a strong acquaintance with the principal’s office and the bane of a teacher’s career. Eva had been the bad kid in our class and now, millions of light years away in an alien classroom, I was the bad kid that kept getting into trouble.

Later, when I was alone in my cell, nursing my sore body when I realized this and laughed so hard it reignited my frayed nerves.

Leilla visited that next day to chastise me. 

“You mustn’t needlessly anger the Mistresses. They can make your life miserable if you get on the wrong side of one,” Leilla said firmly. “Mistress Gritha believes that I have failed in my duty to acclimatize you to Zenana.”

“You’re not going to be punished, are you?” That would be my only regret about my rudeness, that and the hotstick. 

“No, but they may reconsider allowing me to mentor another if you continue with this behavior.” She took my chin between her short thumb and fingers and tilted my face up to hers. “Mistress Gritha thinks you should go back to indoctrination.”

My heart stopped and my blood turned to ice water. “No . . .”

“But I managed to smooth it over. I convinced her that you were becoming so contented that your words were meant only as a joke. A crude joke, but not impertinence.”

I reeling by how close I had come to being sent back to the lower levels. A bead of sweat trickled down my temple and I wiped it away. “I’m sorry. I . . .”

“You are so accustomed to being protected that you are a danger to yourself,” Leilla warned me. “You cannot be careless. You cannot let your emotions control your actions. Weigh every word you say carefully before you speak. And know that any word of disrespect or defiance will tighten a noose around your neck. I don’t wish to frighten you, but you must understand the danger because soon you will be put to the test and already there are those who would see you fail.”

She couldn’t tell me anymore as her time was short, but her warning carried a lot of weight. 

***

I was able to get through the next several days without being punished, but I was careful as Leilla had warned me. At the end of the week, I was allowed to visit her. Like a mother whose child had returned from school, she asked about what I had learned and answered any questions I had.

I only asked her about etiquette and about the Galra culture. What I didn't want to ask or know about was a subject I was forced to endure. Sex education.

We were taught the erogenous zones of the Galra male and female body. How to recognize the signs of arousal, other than the apparent results below the belt. There was the subtle change in breathing, a tilt of the ears, the way the mouth opens slightly are all numerous signs of a Galra’s ardor. Eerily, I recognized them from seeing the same from Prorok before he hurt me. 

Fortunately for me, they had chalked up my repulsion towards sex as a terrible experience with Prorok. Like I was some poor abused dog that was afraid to trust new owners. Leilla and even Mistress Gritha assured me that I wouldn’t be used in such a way again. It wasn’t just that... .Leilla didn’t understand how I saw sex, coming from a race that treated it as casually as a handshake. Mistress Gritha believed she understood human sexuality from Earth media's obsession with sex. 

They never understood that my religion taught that sex was a gift between husband and wife. Personally, I saw sex as sharing a part of myself. After I married Devin and experienced our consummation, I then saw it as receiving a part of him. Through that experience, I carry a part of his soul with me. 

Prorok was an assault. Not sex. But the two Galra after him were sex. I didn’t even know their names. I didn’t want to, but I felt them on my skin as if they were touching me down. It eroded the memories of being with Devin, taking pieces of him away from me and staining my body like a stain.

Eventually, I would be expected to sleep with Galra with the regularity of a waitress serving drinks in a bar. 

Many times, I thought of Ulaz and his pearl of poison that was still there for me if I should need. I could feign illness and I would be sent to him. I would give him a nod and he would plunk it into my palm. But I still didn’t want to die. 

I considered that this was my due justice. If I had listened to my husband’s warnings, if I had seen Takor for what he was, and hadn't made the menagerie of other wrong choices, I wouldn’t be in Zenana. As a Catholic, I believed that only through atonement that sins could be forgiven, but was this the way? I was confused and there was no priest I could speak with. And still, I refused to pray for guidance. If God refused my pleas for my family to remain together, then chances were he turn a deaf ear to any imploring. 

Then came the day I was thrown through the gauntlet. 

***

I was having tea with Leilla, enjoying her company and a respite from the lessons when the door opened. Before when a sentry collected me (which wasn’t time for one to come), they would buzz the intercom for me to come outside. The door opened with no knock or buzz, and Korinthe came in with her ever-present hotstick in hand.

I froze so suddenly, the tea almost sloshed out of the cup. My eyes went from her to the hotstick and back to her. Her lips were set in a firm line, but a nasty smile was dancing behind her eyes. She pointed the stick at me. “Come with me.”

My hands shook as I set the cup down, my mind racing with what I could have done. Leilla laid a hand on my arm, stopping me from standing. There was a tightness around her face and she fixed Korthine with an innocuous look. “May I ask where you are taking her? She was to stay with me for the next few hours.”

Korthine’s eyes harden, but with a slight shrug, she announced. “Due to numerous requests, she’s to be introduced to potential patrons today.”

My stomach felt solid as stone. I could feel the tea threatening to come up, but I swallowed to down in several large gulps.

Leilla had more of a reaction than I did. She surged to her feet, her eyes wide and angry. “She is far from ready for that! Courtesans train for two or three phoebs before they are allowed near patrons without mentors.”

“If you have acclimatized her properly, then there should be no problem,” Korthine said flexing the wrist of the hand that bore the hotstick. “Your charge can’t handle a challenge?”

“There is a difference between a challenge and sabotage. Is Madame Floentha aware of this?”

Korthine’s smiling eyes diminished into spherical depths of anger. “You have overstepped. You seemed to believe you’re on equal standing with the staff. If you need to be reminded of your place, then, by all means, continue to speak your mind.”

As much as I didn’t want to go with Korthine, I just as much didn’t want Leilla to be hurt on my account. It would be my fault again to have another harmed on my behalf. I rose despite Leilla’s hand which slipped off my shoulder. This would have been when I bravely said I would go, but words failed me.

“I should go with her,” Leilla said, still not taking her gaze from Korthine. “She will need coaching.”

The Galra woman looked between us and acquiesce. “Get her ready, Leilla. They’re waiting.”

***

Maybe a condemned prisoner felt as much trepidation as he was led to the gallows as I did when I was led to the salon. They bathed me, scrubbed my skin till it was pink and washed and dried my hair, then brush it until it formed a cloud behind my shoulders. Then I was sprayed with a mist of perfume and oil, softening and scenting my skin. They drape me in silk sash that hung off my shoulders and threatened to slip down my waist.

I was only a body. My brain had stopped thinking. All I could hear was a buzzing as if a fly was trapped in my ears, my eyes saw only what my head was directed towards. Hands touched me, pulling me, were barely acknowledged and they thought me stupid and dumb.

Leilla was there, her presence a small comfort, but I wanted to throw myself at her, beg her to take me to her room and hide me. When she stepped away, my heart leaped into my throat. Where was she going? Why was she leaving me? 

She returned shortly with a cup of tea which she handed to me. “Drink it slow. I put a mild sedative in it to help you relax.”

“I -” I started refusing it at first.

She closed my hands around it. “Drink. You’re about to faint.”

“I’ll throw it up,” I whispered.

“No, you won’t. Because you’re going to calm down and find your bravery,” Leilla said kneeling to meet my eyes. “Your future rides on what happens in the lounge. You don’t need me to tell you what happens if you offend one of them.”

I closed my eyes as a wave of fear rolled over me. The quickest way to be sent away from Zenana to a dangerous fate was angering a patron. Higher level courtesans with many patrons could take that risk, but a novice like me couldn’t afford the ire. 

I drank the tea and within minutes I felt a warm lassitude spread through my limbs. I was still frightened, but more relaxed by the time I handed the cup back. 

“You can show fear, but not defiance,” Leilla whispered. “Never draw away and remember it is better to be thought stupid than ill-behaved.”

“I can’t . . .”

“You can because the worst has already happened to you,” She placed her hands on my face so all I could see was her eyes. “Within one day your husband was killed, you were separated from your child, your freedom was stolen, and you were raped. There is nothing they can do to you that you haven’t suffered a hundred times over. Korthine, for whatever reason, wants you to fail. Don’t give her that. Succeed.”

“Succeed at being raped again?” I whimpered.

“No, becoming a courtesan.”

***

Leilla protested when Korthine put a leash around my throat with a long dark chain. “What are you doing? That hasn’t been done for centuries!”

“She’s a flight risk,” Korthine said tugging on the chain so hard my head bobbed. “And they’ll like it the aesthetic of it.”

It wasn’t like that I could run away, to begin with. I was certain the doors would be locked. Yet, having my movement further hindered terrified me. The chain rattled as I was taken to the lounge.

I didn’t know what to expect. A dark room, a stage, or even a bedroom. I was expecting the room to actually look like a lounge. Four Galra were sitting in an L shape couch around a low table loaded with drinks, snacks, and cards. It was three men and a woman wearing casual clothing that made them look almost nude without their armor. They were already being served by two courtesans who stood by with pitchers to refill drinks.

When I came in, all eyes were on me. I would have imagined I would be accustomed to being the center of attention, but each time it unnerved me. Korthine stalked in behind me, nudging me in the back, reminding me of what I was to do. I bowed so low my hair touched the floor. From numerous treatments, my hair had received a generous growth spurt. It now hung down below my shoulders, almost reaching midway down my back. There was a sigh of delight when I raised my head and they could see me fully. 

“What is her name?” A Galra male leaned forward, flashing sharp teeth. A dark tongue traced an incisor.

“She calls herself Bridget, but you may call her whatever you like,” Korthine said taking on a high cheerful tone that surprised me. I didn’t think she could have sounded so friendly and open. “She’s an adult human female, age around 22 decaphoebs, sexually active and compatible with Galra. Her body has many erogenous zones which I will leave you to discover. Her skin though soft is very sensitive. Allow me to demonstrate.”

I didn’t know what she had in mind, but I turned around when she motioned me. She shifted aside the hair, baring my back, and drew her claws across my shoulder, leaving behind three red lines. I mewled in pain and surprised, my eyes watering. They chuckled, their amusement sinister and frightening. The bitch had drawn blood to drive the sharks into a frenzy. With my back turn, I shot her a brazen look, which she returned with a smug gleam in her eyes. 

She wants you to fail. Don’t give her that. Succeed.

The anger evaporated some, but not all my fear. I didn’t try to resist when she pulled on the chain harder than usual and connected it to a slot in the floor. One of them inquired about it.

“Being human, she has a defiance streak. Feel free to show her her place if she should cause you any problems,” Korthine said jocularly. Maybe they didn’t realize how serious she was or perhaps they hoped she was right. There were purrs and even small laugh which made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The chain was long, allowing me to stand straight, but kept me from reaching the door. 

With a rough pat on my head, which was almost a slap, Korthine departed with the promise of collecting me once the guests sated their curiosity. The door hadn’t even closed before a Galra with long arms took the chain and towed me towards him. He examined me as one would an exotic breed of animal. He ruffled my hair, thumbed my lower lip to see the teeth, and raked a palm across my skin. 

“She’s barely more than skin and bones,” he muttered. “Look.”

He wrapped long fingers around my upper arm and squeezed hard enough to crack bone. I couldn’t hold back a whine as he nearly squeezed my bones to the breaking bone. He released me, leaving a red ring around my arm that would turn into a bruise later. 

“Gerliz, don’t break her before we had a chance to see her,” the female said reprovingly. “Come here, sweety.”

I was set between her and the curious male. They had no timidity of opening touching me to sate their curiosity. My breasts were fondled and stared in fascination as my nipples became erect. None of it was sexual, but more out of experimentation. They opened my legs to see my sex and even lifted my feet to see the soles. They chuckled when my toes curled as one of them drew a claw tip along the instep. 

As uncomfortable as it was to be examined as if I some prized mare, it wasn’t what I was preparing myself more. I wasn’t being gang raped nor were they hurting like Prorok. The drugs formed a warm buzz that kept me from screaming as they molested me. I looked up at the ceiling, watching the hot violet glow of the glass lighting the room as one of them explored my ear with a tongue. I moaned when teeth grazed the lobe.

“Sensitive there, sweety?” A feminine voice purred in my ear sending goose flesh to ripple across my arms. 

I wasn’t sure if I would have experienced less discomfort if it had been a male. As a Catholic, I had been taught that homosexuality is a sin. This had never been an issue for me as I had always been attracted to men and knew no women who were lesbians. Her fingers were tracing little circles on my inner thigh making me struggle not to squirm.

I kept waiting for them to fuck me, but they didn’t. Back then, I didn’t really understand Galra Hierarchy. They were all officers of the same ship and their CO was the large man drinking silently on the far end of the table. Since he was the dominant figure among them, they would do nothing more than explore me until after he’s had me or grant them permission to do so.

He was watching me over the lid of the cup he drained several times. I felt his eyes on me almost like a physical touch. I kept expecting him to call me over or pull me by the chain, but he didn’t. He ate, drank, and chatted with his cohorts, almost ignoring me except for his long stares. The other male didn’t seem interested in me at all. He gave me a glance and returned his attention to the courtesan who had her arms draped over his shoulders. 

They pushed a cup into my hands and I drank deep, hoping the alcohol would dull my senses. Thankfully, it wasn’t Emperor’s Blood or I would have more than have my senses dulled. I need to be aware of what was said and happening around me. They didn’t speak to me much, except for small praises as they would give to a prized animal or pet. 

That is until the woman whispered a question into my ear. A question I had NEVER been asked before.

“How do you touch yourself?”

She meant it to be sexy, maybe even seductive, but my face turned bright red and my shoulders stiffen. An answer was needed and I blurted, “I don’t . . .”

There was a slow blink from her end. “You don’t . . . touch yourself?”

I chewed my lower lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. “No.” If it wasn’t for the chain, the locked door, the Galra, and the fact that I would be caught and punished, I would have run away. Instead, I could only sit there with a hot face wishing it was possible to die of humiliation. 

“Never?” Was she being seductive, curious, or mocking? I couldn’t tell. 

How do I explain to them that masturbation is a sin? I had done it only once in my life during my inquisitive teenage years. Having to admit to it at Confession with the priest had been punishment enough without the Hail Marys. “I did it once . . .”

“Show me,” she whispered close enough for her lips to brush my ear. 

If I had been on good terms with God, I would have asked him to take me then and there. Even if they held a gun to my head, fondling myself in front of them would have been impossible. Even with the drugs forcing my arousal.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to.

The CO set his cup down with a sharp thunk in a signal. The male and female drew away from me, their absence making me feel almost cold, relieved. The CO was a larger male than the other two. He didn’t have the long bone trimness most Galra had with a barrel chest and a heavier frame. He wasn’t overweight, no part of him was flabby soft fat, but solid muscle and girth. He didn’t earn his position as a commander through sedentary means. 

He rose and it was like watching a mountain stirring, rocks sliding down crags and cliffs. With a large hand that could easily palm my face, he took the chain and followed it to where it connected to the floor. With a quick twist of his wrist, he wrenched broke the chain as if it was a top of a soda bottle. 

“Commander, I don’t believe you’re meant to take the female out of the lounge.” The woman said in a respectful, but slightly teasing manner. 

His voice was like hearing two rocks rolling against each other. “Then they shouldn’t have made the chain so weak.”

He was taking me? Where? Would Leilla know where I am? 

He rolled the chain around his forearm and gathered me up as if I were grocery bags. He carried me from the room as if I weighed no more than a small cat. I wrapped an arm around his bulging shoulders, behind his neck to steady myself as he took us from the room. 

We barely drew any looks nor stares. When I was brought to the lounge, I was so consumed with terror and dread that I took no notice of the activity in the halls. Courtesans flirted and whispered flattery while Galra swagger from room to room, usually with an arm around a courtesan or a drink. The Commander must have worn something on his clothing to indicate his higher rank because most Galra stepped to the side and out of his way, some inclining their heads in greeting.

I thought he was going to take me into one of the rooms for privacy, but we came to an elevator. The sigils glowed like embers on a panel and he punched in his floor. The ride was so smooth, I couldn’t tell if we were going up or down. When the doors opened, it was to another set of long halls, but with dimmer lighting. The halls were empty save for a people leaving or entering rooms. Being unfamiliar with Zenana’s layout, I could only assume this was where patrons slept during their R&R. 

We arrived at a room several turns away from the elevator and he set me on my feet as he opened the door. By this time, I was trembling, knowing I was going to be hurt again by another Prorok. The room wasn’t a small cell, but resemble a studio apartment with a large bed and a couch and holo-vid forming a hybrid bedroom and living room. There was also a table with what looked like a fruit basket. It was a round bowl with strange alien fruit arranged in a simple pattern. The door was sealed behind us. I believed it was locked to keep me inside than it was for privacy. 

I flashed back to Prorok and promised myself that I wouldn’t fight this time. Whatever he wanted, I would do so he wouldn’t hurt me. Prorok had been demanding, sometimes not even giving me a chance to obey before hitting me for disobedience. 

The Galra tilted my head up and just as he had done in the lounge, broke the chain free from my collar with a quick flick of the wrist. He unrolled the chain from his arm and tossed it aside on the table like forgotten rubbish. 

“Are you hungry?” 

I actually looked around the room to see who he was speaking to before I saw his gaze on me. I nodded mutely, even though the food was the furthest thing from my mind. He pressed a seal atop a credenza. The top lifted upward revealing several compartments protected by bright violet panels. A middle panel disappeared revealing two already prepped plates with steaming food. 

I sat at the table with him and could only pick at it. I managed a few mouthfuls and a few sips of the beverage he also collected from the credenza. I barely paid any attention to the food's appearance or taste. If he took any offense from my lack of appetite, he didn’t show it but ate as if he were alone. 

I watched the food disappeared from his plate, fearing what would happen once his plate was clean. When he finished eating, he gave a jaw-popping yawn flicked an ear. “Let’s play a game . . .”

Alright, that was the cue. The cue for the pain to start. 

Imagined my surprise when he brought to set aside our plates to make room for a game board. He turned it on and it glowed into an array of squares and circles. A small holo panel appeared on the side and he typed a few keys. “We’ll start with basic mode until you’ve learned the rules.”

Then he taught me how to play Fleet. It was like chess, but with spaceships. Each ship had its own set of strengths and weaknesses and formations. He explained the rules, not minding when he had to repeat himself when I was confused.

We were halfway through our second game that it finally convalesce that whatever intentions this Galra had for me, it wasn’t to harm. He did something with me that no Galra had done; talk to me. Yes, Takor did talk to me, but who knows what was true or was him trying to paint a pretty picture to lure me in.

He told me about his brother teaching him how to play this game before he left for the Academy as a child. His brother had served as an adjutant to a Fleet Commander who didn’t know the difference between his arsehole and a black hole. The brother practically ran the fleet himself without proper recognition until he was killed during a conquest campaign. The Galra spoke in a somber manner as he remembered his brother. 

By the time we finished the fifth game, I knew more about his brother than I knew about him or even Takor for that matter. Through the games and his reminiscing, he was getting tired. He yawned and blinked his eyes, sometimes drifting off into silence before taking his turn. When he put the game away, he returned with a brush. 

On the bed, his head weighed heavy on my lap. The brush snagged a bit through the thick mane at the name of his neck. The courtesan training had taught me how to properly groom Galra fur and he needed it. The brush whispered through his fur, like a sigh of relief. The ears laid flat as I passed the bristles over them. He kneaded the back of my leg like a kitten seeking comfort from its mother. It was with the pads of his fingers and not with the sharp claws so I was uninjured.

The poor wretched wanted to sleep, but couldn’t. I never experienced insomnia myself, but my father had bouts of it when I was a girl. He would pace the hall outside our bedrooms and cursing under his breath. I would find him slouch in a chair passed out and he would wake with a crick in his neck. After coaxing from myself and our housekeeper, he turned to white noise recordings and a massager for his shoulders and neck which helped a great deal. 

My fingers sank through the fur to rubbed the space beneath the base of his skull. My eyes were growing heavy, lulled towards sleep in sympathy as he finally fell into a heavy sleep. Once asleep, he wasn’t disturbed when I rested my head on his large shoulder and slept myself. 

Maybe we were asleep for two or three hours when there was hammering on the door. I was up first, blinking, uncertain of where it was coming from until I heard Korthine’s voice buzzing through an intercom. “Commander Wroth, sir, please open the door.”

I wanted to shout at her to keep it down, to let him sleep, but he was already stirring. Her voice wasn’t the usual deep conniving baritone but held a note of panic that was unusual coming from her. “Sir, the female isn’t ready to serve, she hasn’t been properly trained. She has ill manners and hasn’t learned respect for her masters. I can have a proper courtesan brought to you within minutes.” 

I couldn't help the smug smirk I shot at the door. She would be held accountable for whatever trouble I cause because she pushed my introduction too soon. She didn’t count on one of the patrons breaking the rules and spiriting me away from observation. 

One would think she would give up, but she kept hammering at the door and pleading through the intercom. Commander Wroth slowly rose like a whale breaching the ocean surface and with the same fluid motion, he stormed to the door. He slapped the panel and it swooshed open.

Korthine was standing at the door with a fist raised in mid-knocked. Before she could speak, he seized her by the throat and hauled her inside. I thought he was going to kill her. I wasn’t certain if I would be horrified or gleeful if he did. He slammed her against the wall and pressed her down so she had to look up at him. His back was to me, but from the look of fear, I could imagine his face twisted in fury.

“You have disturbed the first sound sleep I’ve had in deca-phoebs,” Commander Wroth growled. “In the centuries I've visited Zenana, I have never been so disturbed.”

I shouldn’t have watched. I should have pretended to be asleep or went to the bathroom. Korthine saw me watching and made me pay for it later. 

“Commander, forgive me, I only wanted to ensure . . .”

“Madame Floentha is going to hear of this and if I see you again before I leave Zenana, I’ll see to it that you’re transferred to toilet cleaning duty in the Ulippa system.”

He shoved her through the door and I was treated to a sight of her catching herself against the opposite wall. He closed the door and turned away. Instead of coming back to bed, he went through a side doorway and a few moments later the water was running. 

I crawled towards the edge of the bed for a better look. He was washing his face in a sink and raking water through the fur between his ears furiously. Was he trying to wake himself up or calm down?

I didn’t know what I needed to do. If I comforted him, he could see it as my toying with him, but if I did nothing, it could be considered negligence on my part. He resolved the issue by leaving the bathroom and returned to the bed. I expected him to lay down, put his head on my lap for me to brush again. 

He had something else in mind.

He was gentle, mindful of his claws and strength. He cupped my face between his large hands and gave my mouth and cheeks a series of kisses and licks, sometimes brushing teeth across my jaw and jowls. Heat unfurled in my belly and arousal crawled over me like sickening sweet syrup. 

“Am I hurting you?” he asked after mounted me. 

“N-no.” My voice was small, barely a word. 

“Does this feel good?”

“It does.”

I climaxed twice by the time he released a hot explosion inside of me. I also panicked before I remembered the contraceptive implant in my arm. He was purring so loud it could have been a growl. He cradled me against his chest, fingers entangled in my hair, my head tucked beneath his chin.

He fell asleep as his semen trickled between my thighs and I wept silently into his fur. 

***

He kept me with him for three days. The first day, we had sex often and everywhere in his suite as we were honeymooners in love. I became more at ease around him in ways I never could around Prorok or the other Galra males. I explored him as I had been explored by his cohorts in the lounge. He didn’t mind, laying as peaceful as an African lion as cubs played with his mane and tail. The bottom of the feet had dark rough pads on like a dog’s. Rubbing his crest, I realized there was a hard rubbery ridge along the top of his skull beneath the fur. Like most mammalian animals, his genitals were tucked away inside his body within a sheath that swelled when aroused. 

Seeing it make some phrases I’ve heard from Galra make more sense. ‘Keeping it sheathed’ was the same as ‘keeping it in your pants’. ‘Being unsheathed’ meant the same as having a boner or an erection.

I had gone through the gauntlet and came out the other end as a different person. My fear was gone, but I remained cautious around my Galra lover. I shed no more tears since last night, my revulsion went away with my fear and I responded to him as I would have with Devin. Anytime I thought of him, I pushed it down beneath the surface, letting the depths of my mind carry it away. A pragmatic part of me knew that thinking of Devin would be a hindrance to me and the memory of him wouldn’t serve me. 

Commander Wroth slept on and off throughout the day. Sex served as a sedative and he would nap for an hour or two before rising again to either sleep or watch the holo-vid. Sometimes we played the board game. He talked to sometimes, usually with questions about Earth or about himself. He never hurt me and didn’t seek pleasure from any minor pain or discomfort I experienced coupling with him. The first few times, he was careful with me as if I were a fragile bird until he understood my physical limitation. 

The second day we went to a soiree. Clothes were brought to his suite along with jewelry. The dress was red, almost the same shade as my hair. The skirt ended above my knees and hugged my frame. The shoes were soft slippers with a precious stone at the toe. It took half an hour to get ready and then I left with him.

I’ve never seen so many Galra in one place. I stayed close to Wroth, keeping my hand on his arm at all times lest I get left behind. I felt as I was in a cavern of lions and they presented themselves as such. They all wore the armor of various ranks and bore their battle scars as if they were badges of honor. I wasn’t the only non-Galra woman among them; there were others like me attached to a Commander or carrying a tray laden with drinks or food. We were like exotic birds to attract the eye and admiration of others. 

Like in the lounge there was a hierarchy in place. Two hours in the soiree, I noticed there was a system of behavior based on ranks. Lieutenants stayed close to their Commanders like bodyguards. Commanders carried themselves with authority, sometimes nodding to an ally or glares at a rival. Sometimes they gathered together to speak about previous campaigns, missions and gossiped about the failings of others. Sometimes thinly veiled threats were given as often as promises for support for a power move. I stayed silent and remained at Commander Wroth’s side, being subjected to curious gazes and being touched and petted. It wasn’t as invasive, just small touches along my arms to explore the smooth skin and dark fingers investigating my red curls. It was only those Wroth seemed to have a rapport with that could draw close to touch me, but those he wasn’t familiar with or had friction with kept their distance. 

They rarely spoke to me. When they did, it was questions about Earth, most of it was harmless inquiries about Earth’s climate and if all humans had my red hair and pale skin. Then I was tested when I was asked how the humans benefited from Galra rule. I was in the middle of a sip of wine when I was pelted with the question. Taking a slow swallow, I was able to recover myself enough to reply, “Humanity believed themselves to be the only race in the Universe. The Galra have taught us otherwise.”

It was a weak, but truthful answer. If they knew what I thought of their arrival, I wouldn’t survive the seconds after the words left my lips. A small wave of anger passed over me and I shoved it down. I was learning quickly that anger and disgust would only hurt me.

Command Wroth moved through the crowd with the grace of a tiger. Groups parted for him and he schmoozed with those who were too high rank to pay deference to him. He drew me along like a debutante with an exotic animal on a leash. It was a different contrast from when he was alone with me. He had doted on me in his suite, praising and petting me between bouts of sex, but now he ignored me save for touching my shoulder to follow him. 

I imagined myself as those blank silent women in films where they are just there to look pretty and young, a status symbol for men. I was careful to keep my drinking moderate. Though I had managed to tame my fear, I had no desire to become careless by being inebriated. I was surprised by how much of the training I had absorbed. My eyes were lowered at a respectful angle so I wasn’t staring, but could see the rank of the Galra around me. My smile was pleasant, but not too bright or reluctant. I was supposed to be happy to be among them, in awe of them, and even worshipful. When they touch me, I was to shiver in excitement and when I was complimented, I dipped my head demurely as if I was honored by the attention granted me. 

I felt sick, but I shoved it down. I wanted to be angry, but I shoved it down.

Instead, I paid attention to my actions and words, seeing them not as a betrayal to myself, but as a means of defense and camouflage. A means to survive with some part of my sanity intact.

With a hand across my shoulders, Commander Wroth drew me with him from the soiree. I thought we were going back to his room but took me up another level to a private party. The doors opened spewing vapor into our faces. It reminded me of freshly cut pine. Music played, low with a whimsical beat, dull and distant like a beating heart. Wroth seemed to relax, his mouth formed a smile as he greeted partier. 

Galra forewent their armor wearing casual clothes while a few of the courtesans there went half cladded or unclothed. All of them serving food or drink or draped across the bodies of their masters. The smoke made me light headed and I didn’t react when hands explored my face. Claw tips roaming dangerously close to my eyes. 

Words were exchanged and consent was given. Large hands turned me toward a lounge chair. I was too short so I was helped onto the edge of a lounge chair. With gentle pressure on my upper back, I was bent forward and taken from behind. I shoved it all down again. I focused on the cushions which were a bright amethyst color. When it was over, I was lifted upright, my face tilted up for a praising kiss. I was returned to Wroth’s side and a cup of wine was pushed between my hands as a reward. I drained it, uncaring of losing my inhibition now.

***

Maybe an hour passed, maybe more, I don’t know. It all passed in a blur of wine, caresses, smiles, and purple bodies. I found myself on sitting on a divan watching my breath shift and whorl the vapor above. It was entertaining and an escape. The divan shifted beside me and I automatically fixed my mouth into a warm smile I turned to face a Galra, but say an ivory alien man instead. 

His skin was pale and smooth with intricate black designs along his arms and chest. He peered at me with eyes so dark there was barely any contrast between the pupil or iris, or if he even had any iris at all. 

“You need to pace yourself,” he said in a smooth voice with a stilted accent. “You’ll burn out and offend the Galra.”

I crinkle my brow, suspicious. “And how do I keep myself from ‘burning out’?”

“Stay close to the patron who brought you along. Fawn over him and he won’t be so eager to share you. If you must drink, then drink it slowly and avoid smoking cedair if you can help it.”

I blinked, suddenly conscious that my garment only covered the left side of my chest leaving my waist and right breast bare. I sat up, letting the cloth fall into place. “I know you . . . .I remember you from the shower.”

He nodded. “I’m surprised to see you serve so well after arriving so soon. Did you serve others on your home planet?”

“Yes, but not like this,” I said. 

“Your patron adores you,” the ivory man said. “He comes for you now.”

Then I was collected by Commander Wroth. He bent down and drew me up into his arms and carried me away. I sank into his arms, more fatigued than I had realized and fell asleep before he carried me from the party. 

***

On the third day, we talked about Prorok.

I woke up with a throbbing headache that dissipated when I drank a glass of water. I stood at the sink holding the huge glass with both hands consuming it in large swallows. Wroth stood behind me, tracing my shoulders with a claw as he bit into a piece of bread stuffed with nuts and syrup. 

“You were handled roughly,” he said tapping a bruise where my shoulder met my neck. “Does it hurt?”

“I barely noticed it, sir,” I said between swallows. “I’ve had much worse.”

I didn’t mean to say it, the words left my lips without thought and forgotten just as quick. Once my thirst was sated and my headache eased, we returned to bed together, but he toyed with a tablet while I recovered beside him. I had slept too much to sleep more and the throbbing in my temples couldn’t offer a distraction from the changes I was going through. 

The fear was still there, but lessened. My terror of the Galra had left me, but in its place was caution. Like a blacksmith would with fire or training with dangerous animals. I was wary of them, but I understood how to handle them. I had learned from Takor, Korthine, Mistress Gritha, and even that bastard Prorok, of how to protect myself and disguise my feelings. With practice, those would be eroded away until apathy remained. 

I thought he was too absorbed into his tablet to pay me much attention or that he may fall asleep.

“What happened that was worse than this?” He stroked the bruise again. 

Again, I spoke mechanically. “I was choked so hard I had bruises around my neck.” The stroking stopped and the silence was an unspoken question that laid over me like a wet blanket. There was no fear in the memories now. “Prorok didn’t like it when I screamed so he would choke me until I couldn’t scream.”

“Was he hurting you?”

“Yes.”

I told him everything Prorok did to me, in detailed. The words rolled off me like stones from my shoulders. It hurt to remember, but it was cathartic to share. He listened to me without speaking, lightly caressing the bruise on my neck. 

What I didn’t know was that Commander Wroth and Commander Prorok had a bitter rivalry during their years in the Imperial Academy. It continued them throughout their careers and had festered into bitter enemies. I began to fear that my speaking ill of a comrade would offend him. Courtesans were forbidden from speaking ill of a patron, or any Galra for that matter. He was actually enjoying listening to any morbid tidbits about his foe.

His only response was, “Do you enjoy my company more than his?”

Did that even warrant an answer? 

I clung to him, burrowing my face into his chest and said yes into his fur. He held me for a long time, kissing my hair, stroking my back. He said that Prorok shouldn’t harm such a good servant as me. I enjoyed the comfort, but it felt sour. He was the lesser of two evils and he didn’t feel sorry that I had been hurt, but that a good slave had been so cruelly treated.

Another thing I didn’t know at the time. I was planting the seeds for my revenge against Prorok.


	12. BONUS: Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridget gets into a fight with another courtesan which brings surprising consequences.

Flying under the radar in Zenana is next to impossible. For one thing courtesans are eye candy. We are meant to be looked at; admired and desired. It took me a while to get used to being seen as something less than a person. I’ve been poked, stroked, grabbed, squeezed, caressed, scratched, jabbed, pinched, slapped, patted, licked, and kissed. And not just from patrons.

I was on what I called wine slinging duty. I was dressed in a form fitting gown that accentuated my upper body with an open skirt that let me walk freely on low heel shoes. My job for the evening was to look pretty and keep wine cups from going empty. And if a patron wanted me to sit on their lap so they could paw me, then I perched on their knee until they were done with me. There were plenty of other wine slingers around to keep their cups full. However, there was risk in our presences.

Courtesans, the higher tier Courtesans, who have five or more patrons dedicated to them, were among the Galra pleasing their patrons while trying to enlist more to their names. Some of them were angling to get their own room in the higher levels once they have ten or more patrons. Those rooms held their own baths and food dispensers and you’re name and information was provided to newly arriving guests who were seeking entertainment, giving you an advantage of attaining new patrons. 

Until then, the climb to that point was strenuous. So far, I had three patrons. It allowed me some privileges, but I still had to carry out different jobs around Zenana such as serving drinks and entertaining any and all guests that come through its illustrious doors.

I needed two more to be on level with the courtesan languishing among their lovers, but my personal rule is to steer clear of any patrons of whom I knew belonged to another courtesan, especially if she’s right there within sight. Unfortunately, that isn’t possible all the time.

I leaned forward to fill a vacant wine cup and the Galra holding it, a rough looking bloke who first glanced at my cleavage before finding my face above them, smiled at me. What was I to do!? Rebuking a patron got you sent to the pillory or a day without food or water. Or worst, sent back to indoctrination because surely they must have slipped up somewhere for you to do something as stupid or rude to rebuff a guest. 

I smiled back, briefly catching his eyes with mine and hoped to God that his Courtesan hadn’t seen. For a moment, as I moved away to fetch a fresh bottle, I thought I got away with it, yet upon returning, I felt angry eyes boring into me. The Courtesan leaning against the rough looking bloke was glaring at me so fiercely to set me ablaze if she could. 

I recognized her as Flipipii who came from a race that was a cross between insectoid and mammalian. She had antennas that extended from the v-shape forehead and curled prehensile a foot upward above her head. Her skin was a light lime green color with large black eyes. Her finger tips ended in non-retractable claws that reminded me up praying mantis claws. She had a feminine shape, but no breasts or navel and very pretty when she was pleasant. She maintain a sweetly, seductive nature around the patrons, but she was a outright hag bitch when it came to rivals or those she believed were trying to poach her patrons.

Which wasn’t my intent at all! 

I could only hope that she would get drunk enough to forget what happened, or finally earn her fifth patron so she could be moved up to the next level and away from me. 

I continued serving drinks and tried my best to keep my eyes down so I could plead ignorance if a patron should seek my attention again. The night, or end of a cycle, was beginning to wrap up and more than one patron was passed out while the ones who could hold their liquor was exchanging war stories and bawdy tales of conquests and victorious challenges. It was beginning to wind down and I had made it through with only being groped and leered at and I hoped to keep it that way. I needed to lay low for a while, at least until Flipipii forgot about me or found someone else to be angry at, or went to the higher floors. It wasn’t the first time I had to dodge a vindictive courtesan. 

I turned in my tray and tried to creep out the back without being seen. It was hard being a face in a crowd consisting of different aliens and races. Just look for the human with the long curly red hair. I went to the dressing room to turn in my serving outfit when I found Flipipii waiting for me with arms crossed and antennas quivering from their tight butterfly curls. She was flanked by her clique of two cronies: a violet woman with horns curled beneath her pointed ears and sallow skinned young man with a red vine like pattern across his arms and chest. 

I stopped at the doorway. I could run, but then where would I go? That’s the problem of being in a prison. There was very few places to hide and Flipipii had enough clout that any courtesan would turn me over to her for a favor. I remembered back to whenever father was angry with me and felt I needed to be punished. There was nothing for it then to just get it over with. There was no sense in playing dumb of why she was angry with me. If I played my cards right, I might get out of this with just a warning. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get his attention . . .”

“You flirted with him!” Her voice was like a buzz from the bottom of a bucket. 

“I had to,” I said blankly. A patron smiles at you, you smile back. If a patron touches you, you welcomed it. Any expression or action that makes their company seem less than welcomed was forbidden. They should know that! They’ve been here much longer than I have. 

Yet, Flipipii glared at me as if I was trying to make a fool of her. She didn’t believe me and maybe for good reason. She had been a new arrival once and at the mercy of more experienced courtesans that knew how to play the game better than her. Likely, she had had patrons stolen from her by these so-call sisters in arms and she wasn’t about to let this soft skin newcomer encroach on her territory. 

You would think we would all be sisters in captivity, working together to better our lives or find a means to escape. Yet, Zenana has operated like this for eons and the system was in place to keep the wedges of rivalry and distrust to prevent us from united. In a way, we were subjugating ourselves so they only needed to use force to punish us if we displease a patron. . 

“I’m really sorry,” I said again, knowing my best chance to come out of this relatively unscathe was to apologize and beg, maybe even owe her a favor later. “I’ll never go near your patrons again.”

Then Flipipii’s black eyes brighten as a twisted smirk crossed her lips. “I know you won’t. I’ll be going to to the upper tiers once my newest patron speaks with Madame Floentha and you’ll stay down here with the other wiggling worms, you pale p’stisha.”

I didn’t have to understand her language to understand she just called me something dirty and foul. It helped that I didn’t know exactly what she was calling me. Believing that it was settled, I moved to go around them, but the woman flanking her moved to block my way. I wasn’t going to get out of it that easy.

“We’re going to help you keep that promise, p’stisha.” Flipipii said maliciously as a broken glass. Slipping a hand into her sleeve, she produced a pair of scissors she must have filched from the salon. 

I stared at the knife and a cool calm came over me. They won’t kill me. Killing another courtesan was like slitting your own throat. It got you auctioned off to the highest bidder or sent to the arena. If you were lucky, a besotted patron might buy you from the auction, but then you were still a disgraced courtesan whom he’ll eventually tire of and who knows what’ll happen to you. Zenana was a rare slave ring where you had some security; as long as you did your job and please patrons, your future was assured and that was something taken so for granted by free people. She wouldn’t kill me, but that wouldn’t stop her from hurting me, causing me damage that would keep me in medical for a while. Galra medicine could repair most any injury without leaving scars behind, but being cut would still hurt all the same. 

“I’ll scream,” I said, but it was a threat with no depth. Oh, I could certainly scream very loud, but whether anyone would come was the question. A curious someone may come along, but most anyone on this wretched station would assume it was a Galra getting too aggressive with a courtesan and leave him or her to their business. Security sentries won’t come unless my collar register severe damage. Being cut was considered a minor consequence of being handled by Galra. 

“Oh, I’m not going to cut your pale slug skin, wormy p’stisha,” Flipipii said with a smirk which twisted her thin lips into a sneer. “Watching you flounce around with your hair is annoying. I wonder what your meager patrons would think if it was gone.”

Emotions swarmed me. At first, I was relieved I was coming out of this with only a haircut, however, healing injuries was one thing, but growing back hair was another. Hair could be encouraged to grow faster than natural, but it would take weeks for it to be restored to its full length. Until then, my patrons might find my shorn head a turn off and I wasn’t in the position that I could shrug off losing a few patrons.  
A bubble of anger rose to the surface. I’m not vain, in fact my hair has been a source of frustration in my life. From being called Anne of Green Gables in my childhood for my part in a school play to trying to tame the curls with hair straightening products in my teenage years, my hair has been a topic of argument between myself and Dad who did not believe that young girls should get their hair dyed and nor would my private school permit me to attend classes with my hair shorter than my shoulders. Perhaps they think that having short hair gave us permission to question our sexuality. When I graduated school, I was too busy to think about changing my hairstyle and the prices in the salons were more than I was able to pay on the strict budget set by Dad. Then I was engaged to Devin. When I brought up taking this chance to shear off my curls, he begged me not to. You wouldn’t be Bridget Walsh without them, he had told me.

“You’re not touching my hair,” I said, surprised by the force behind my voice.

“Oh, so the pale worm wants to growl,” Flipipii laughed.

“I’ll do more than fucking growl if you come near me,” I promised. “I’ll take those scissors and put it in your eye.” 

From the corner of my eye, I saw one of her cohorts falter, cowed by my sudden ferocity. It was easier to bully someone who was frightened of you than someone who was willing to fight. The other one was willing to take that chance. He reached for me. 

I swung a hand and caught him across the face with my palm. My nails raked over one eye. He yelled, pressing both hands over his eye and backing away. Now was my chance to flee into the main hall, among the patrons, where they wouldn’t pursue me. I underestimated how my defiance would infuriate Flipipii. She lunged after me, catching me from behind.

My head was pulled back by the hair and I heard the hiss of hair being cut. I wrenched around, uncaring of the scissors bearing close to my face, slapped Flipipii. 

“Get away from me!” I screamed, shoving her.

“P’tisha bitch!”

The tip of the scissors barely missed my eye, just grazing the skin beneath it. The sting sparked my bloodlust, to hurt her more than she was hurting me. I flashed back to the fight I had in private school. We had slapped and pulled each other’s hair while rolling on the floor. Well, Flipipii had my hair, so it was only right I should pull hers. However, she didn’t have hair for me to grab, but she did have two long antennae.

She shrieked when my hand wrapped around the thin stalk and a spasm shook her body when I yanked it. We were dancing together in a stood crouch as if we were in some stooped dance. She still had the scissors and I had my other hand around her wrist to keep them from finding my gut. I didn’t realize until a moment later, but we had left the dressing room and had taken our skirmish down the hall and we were bursting into the dining hall.

I was so entrench in fighting Flipipii I didn’t notice cries of surprise and shouts of encouragement. There was a step of a dias that we both missed and we spilled across the floor, rolling over each other. I lost my grip on Flipipii’s wrist and not knowing whether she still held the scissors or not sent me into a panic. With one hand still around Flipipii’s antenna, I reached out for a weapon of my own and I touched something metal. Not knowing what it was, and nor caring, I slung it at her. 

There was a clang as the metal tray slammed across her face, smashing her nose. There was a sickening snap and Flipipii’s scream rent the air between us. She was now missing an antenna which was still in my hand! The broken end oozed with greenish blood which dribbled down my forearm. I tossed the stalk away from me disgusted and horrified. Flipipii was rolling on the floor, clutching her head with both hands. Green blood was seeping through her fingers.

Then sentries were on us then. Power, undeterred hands grabbed and lifted us off the floor and took us out of the dining hall 

***

An hour later, I was sitting in front of Madame Floentha’s desk with a headache and oddly enough, starving. I would think I wouldn’t have any appetite during these circumstances, but my stomach believed otherwise. Maybe it wanted once last meal before whatever Madame Flo decided to do to me was carried out. 

She was peering at me unhappily. “I must say, I am far from happy with you right now.”

Surprisingly, those were the exact words the headmistress had used after my fight in school. I nearly called her Sister Greta when I said, “I-I’m sorry, Madame Floentha.”

“Oh, yes, I always get apologies after the fact,” Madame Flo sighed. “Flipipii’s friends told me what happened, though they were quite clear that it was her idea to attack you and I see no fault in your defending yourself. However, your spat occurred where guests and patrons could see. In fact, you interrupted a celebratory dinner. Unforgivable.”

I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath, bracing myself. It didn’t matter what courtesans did to each other as long as it didn’t interfere with Zenana’s operations. I’ll be lucky if I can get away with only having my privileges revoked or a whipping. I wasn’t too proud to beg my way out going through indoctrination again or auctioned off if came to it.

“Poor Flipipii,” Madame Floentha said cruelly dragging out my sentencing. “She can only walk in circles after you broke off her antenna. We’ll have to wait a week for her antenna to grow back before the auction.”

A feather of satisfaction rose and fell. She managed to snip off a lock of hair before I fought back. If she had managed to carry out her plan of taking off all my hair, then chances were strong I would be facing auction myself. However, I had a sad feeling I was facing that fate now anyway. 

Madame Floentha picked up her cheroot and twiddling it between her fingers. “She was wrong for attacking you. She lost most of her patrons once word got out about the fight. Disgraceful.” I didn’t know whether she was calling the fight or losing patrons disgraceful. “Flipipii mistook her skill for talent and thought she could coast once she acquired enough patrons to advance. It is a sign of a weak courtesan who lets a little smile frighten her so. She should have worked to make her patron forget you instead of attacking you.”

The heel of my foot tapped on the floor. I hated it when Madame Floentha played this game of taking her sweet time to hand down a sentence and dragged me on her hook. Why can’t she just tell me what she intends to do with me and be done with it? 

“Her friends won’t share her fate. They have an appointment at the pillory later.”

Despite myself, I felt some sympathy for them. The pillory was short pole with shackle on a small chain at the top. The bottom was magnetized to keep it from moving during struggles. Most times, whippings were done in the private of the courtesan’s room or in Madame Flo’s office, but if someone was sent to the pillory, then it was done during a feast as entertainment. This was mostly done to courtesans on the lower levels and I had suffered that humiliation once. I rather endure it again than auction. 

Finally, my nerve broke and I asked softly, “Do I have an appointment at the pillory too, Madame?” 

Madame Flo sucked on her cheroot and puffed out smoke through her nose. “You did.”

I blinked. “I did?”

“Yes, you did. That is until I realized you were going to be too busy to be whipped. You have four new patrons after your bout with Flipipii. I have staff preparing a room for you in the upper levels.” She sat back and watched me absorb this new information, silently pleased with herself. “You’ve certainly impressed our guests today, but please, don’t use fisticuffs to attract patrons again. I’ll have a sentry show you to your new room, but don’t get too comfortable. One of your new patrons will be by to visit you shortly. Do make yourself presentable for her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr either my muse RP blog: rebelcourtesan  
> Or on my writing blog: gapspace


	13. BONUS: A Day in Zenana

When I first arrived in Zenana, I was praised for knowing how to bathed, eat off a place and drink from a glass. I was praised for knowing how to brush my hair and wash my face, how to dress myself, and sleep in a bed. 

To them, I was a primitive. My race had only just discovered space flight in their eyes. We haven’t even gone beyond our own solar system nor mastered faster than light travel. We still struggled with diseases such as cancer, diabetes, and the common cold, illnesses they had mastered long ago with technology and breakthroughs they had stolen from other races.

Since I was such a primitive, it amazed them I knew how to properly bathed myself and was willing to do it daily. I wondered how they handled the ones that resisted such careful hygiene.

In my room, I’m allotted six hours of rest which I can use freely provided that I didn’t present myself exhausted with red sleep eyes. I usually spend about two hours of it reading and the rest sleeping after I drift off with the tablet between my hands. Once six hours are up, there’s a gentle chime that gradually gets louder and louder until I show activity by walking across the room. A small dot appeared on a bare wall which slowly grew until it covered the surface from floor to ceiling. A sexless humanoid figure appeared, or more like bounced, before me in childlike excitement. 

I wondered if this looked humanoid to match my species. It had no tail, horns, slanted ears, nor claws. It looked like a cartoon without any added features of a face, fingers, or toes, yet it moved with the mobility and flexibility of a gymnast on too much caffeine. If a courtesan had a tail, would this figure also have a tail? In stiff English, it announced it was time for my exercises.

“Hurry, hurry!” It chirruped in an a trilling voice. “We have to begin our day!”

In other words, I had five minutes to take my spot in front of the screen for exercises or my collar will begin shocking me with small electrical pulses which was annoying at first but would gradually become painful until I complied. Any unpunctuality would be reported to the staff. Too many infractions and I’m looking at punishment for contumacy.

I changed into a pair of shorts and a loose tunic which hung off my shoulders. Foregoing shoes, I stood before the figure who continued to bounce until it detected I was in position and then began trilling about the importance of exercise and then began our cardio routine while a repetitive droning beat droned on. I had participated in a six week aerobics class in college as a physical education elective and it was very much like that except it was one on one and there were motion sensors who saw whether I matched the figure’s example. If I didn’t, it would start the exercise over with encourage words until it was happy with my imitation. It also took note of my willingness to participate. 

We ended with moderate yoga like stretches on the floor until I was laying on the ground with aching legs and shoulders. I rested while the figure bounced to and fro on its boxlike feet praising me and encouraging me to drink plenty of water before it left me in blissful silence by disappearing with a small blep. Once I recovered, I took a shower, letting warm water soothe my sore muscles. I came out in a wrapper and towel my hair dry. There was another chime and another lower, more soothing voice, told me I had messages on my terminal and I had a physical exam in an hour.

The terminal was a privilege for the higher ranking courtesans. We could send and receive messages and surf the exonet, but they were heavily monitored and I could only visit certain sites; approved news stories, beauty sites, entertainment channels, and, oddly enough, or perhaps not so considering where I was, alien porn. Most of the messages we received were from our patrons or the staff giving us news or information around Zenana. We were expected to read messages shortly after receiving them unless we were asleep or away from our rooms. If we left the patron messages unread for too long, well, we weren’t being good courtesans, were we?

I had three messages from three different patrons. One was asking for my recommendation for an Earth film, another was to let me know he was being enlisted for a mission galaxies away and would not return for a long time, and the last inquired what my favorite scent of lotion was. 

The Galra loved revenge films. Road to Perdition, Kill Bill Vol. 1 and 2, Oldboy, all of the Death Wish films, The Unforgiven and scores of others such films had made their rounds among the Galra. I had sat through six showings of Inglourious Basterds with four different patrons who liked to watch a film to unwind. I thought for a moment and then recommended True Grit, both the old and new versions. I had read the original book and I figured the movie versions to be alright. 

Then I sent a sad note to the second stating I would miss him while relieved that I wouldn’t be blamed for no further appointments from him. It’s one thing to lose a patron because he was leaving for a long tour of duty far away or he died serving the Empire, it was quite another to lose one because he was dissatisfied or bored with me. Unless the patron complained, there was no punishment, but a record was kept and if too many patrons left me in too short time, then flags were raised and my position in Zenana was questioned. 

As for the last I asked for warm octavian fruit which carried a pleasant aroma that reminded me of honey and almonds and thanked him heartily for thinking of me. When a patron gave you a gift or show any inclination that he thought of you when you weren’t within his line of sight, then you damn well better thank them as if they were an apostle delivering the Word of the Almighty. 

Once I sent these messages off I changed into comfortable clothing for my monthly physical. It was a quick routine exam where my temperature was taken, my pulse checked, blood drawn, and urine sample taken. They couldn’t have sick courtesans entaining their visitors, could they? A disinterested nurse felt my throat and stomach and inquired if I was feeling any pain or discomfort since my last physical in a drawn monotone voice while a drone ran tests on my blood and urine. I wasn’t worried so much about my health as I was about being pregnant again. 

After a few nerve wracking minutes, the results came back negative, as usual, but the times it came back as positive had been shattering. 

With my exam complete, I’m permitted to leave and I go to the dining hall. I could have food brought to my room, but I didn’t feel like going back. My room had seemed smaller lately making me almost claustrophobic. The dining hall consisted of a buffet with small round tables for courtesans to eat with others if they so choose. Most of the courtesans come from social species who needed the presence of others for mental wellbeing. I recognized a few of them sitting together eating and chatting almost happily as if they were women having lunch together in a cafe or resturant. They all wore collars like mine. 

I made a salad of dry crunchy blue leaves with a sweet sauce as a topping. As a treat, I added a roll to the side not caring that my next exercise routine will be more strenuous to burn off the extra calories. I suspected the collars had some sort of health sensors to monitor how many calories we eat and reported it to the computers that ran our exercise routines. I collected a cup of coffee and sat down in a lone corner to enjoy my meal. It had taken a while to become accustomed to the alien food, but once I tried everything, I learned what went well together and what I should leave well enough alone. The buffet was marked with symbols to indicate what food was safe to ingest and what would give me an allergic reaction. I was taught to recognize the symbols once I was given more freedom after my indoctrination.

I wasn’t alone for long as I was joined by a green willowy woman with a bobbed haircut. Her gold almond shaped eyes were bright, filled with affection, and her small lips were twisted in an impish smirk. The chairs was wide for the larger species of courtesans so with her thin frame she was able to sidle next to me and prop her head on my shoulder. Warmth cascaded through my stomach when her hand found my knee. She helped herself to a crunchy leaf from my plate, her large eyes gazing at me with heated desire. The tips of her fingers crept towards the opening of my wrapper.

“Not here,” I whispered softly with my head bowed. I glanced at the other courtesans and saw none had taken an interest in us.

Her fingers stopped, but stayed, toying with the edges of the robe. “Where?”

I thought for a moment. “In an hour - I mean varga. In the laundry room on the third level.” The servants preferred to use the laundry rooms on the upper levels and the third level one was used for storage for laundry from the lower levels. It offered the best privacy without going to our rooms. 

She pouted before nodding with a smile. She pecked the corner of my mouth before leaving me to finish my meal. Once my plate was clean, I set my eating utensils on it to be collected by a serving girl later, and returned to my room to change. Despite the flirtation, I was still feeling melancholy  
and only one thing could possibly bring me cheer.

I changed into comfortable pants with a long sleeve shirt that snuggly fitted my arms. After running a brush through my hair few times to tame the curls, I checked the time and hurried towards the upper levels towards the nursery.

When courtesans were pregnant, unless the patron wished otherwise, their prenatal care and childbirth was provided in Zenana. When the babies were born and depending on their health needs, they would spend their first few weeks to years in Zenana with their mothers for nursing and care until they were deemed old enough to leave for their new homes. I was one of the few courtesans, who was not a mother, allowed to visit the nursery. These were the children of the Galra Elite, and though they were half breeds, they were treated with great care. Though these children will never reach the ranks of their fathers, they could still contribute as foot soldiers, warriors, and cannon fodder. There was no telling what sort of upbringing they will receive once they leave Zenana, but the least I can do is let them experience being cradle and coddled before they go. Most of the children’s mothers are too busy entertaining patrons or held no interest in motherhood. 

After my collar is scanned, I was permitted entrance through the main hall into a room filled with soft shapes and light colors. A bright red girl was tussling with a generic purple boy in the corner under the watchful gaze of a staff member. A courtesan I recognized was trying to coax her daughter into eating a spoonful of cereal of which the girl was giving dubious frowns. There was a side room with cribs, oval egg like cradles which monitor the baby's health and displayed their sleeping and feeding schedules. There were three occupied cradles for now. A peach colored girl with a long colorful head tails was sleeping peacefully with a thumb in her mouth, a little lilac boy content to chew on a toy, and the last was a fussy furry boy who was on the verge of bawling.

I hurried over and checked the display. There was a symbol of an empty bottle flashing, indicating his feed time, and I had made it just in time to collect him and take him to the milk dispensary. I settled him on my shoulder, careful to keep him away from my chest. When I first held a baby Galra, I made the mistake of cradling the hungry lad to my chest where he latched on and refused to let go despite my cries. It took both my mentor, who brought me here, and a staff member’s efforts to gently pry the insistent mouth open to free me. Sharp little Galra teeth can sink through cloth and flesh easily and my patron thought it amusing when he saw the small oval ring of teeth marks on my breast. 

The infant, the small holo-tag on the cradle listed his name as Reshi, had opened his mouth to bellow when I plugged the bottle into it. He instantly quieten down, shifting until he rested comfortably in my arms sucking eagerly. I found a chair and curled up in it slowly so as not to disturb him. He made soft pleasant sounds of satisfaction, kneading my arm with his feet while his small hands with soft claws grasped at the bottle. He might have enough hand coordination to hold the bottle himself, but I daren’t let him try lest he drop the bottle and have a meltdown over a disturbed feeding.

There was something about holding a baby that dampen any depression or melancholy. I rubbed his ears and took pleasure in the muffled purr it elicited. I spoke softly to him, asking him if the milk was good, had he been a good boy, and would he like to take a nap once he had done eating. He couldn’t speak of course, but he watched me with wide amber eyes with that intense curiosity babies carried. I rubbed the bottom of his black padded feet with a thumb, losing myself in memories of when I rocked my son on Earth. 

He had been a big eater and demanded his feedings at regular intervals and screamed if he wasn’t provided a bottle when he demanded one. Devin and I already made sure we had a bottle ready in the refrigerator to be warmed up when his feeding time grew close. Thinking of Connor brought pain to my heart and I hoped someone was holding him like this on Earth.

No, not like this. He would almost be two years old now. Was he the sort of two year old who liked being held and rocked or would he be bursting with energy to play and get into everything? I never had the chance to find out.

A frantic mother hustled a toddler through the door with a stern warning of being quiet. I recognized her as a courtesan who was attempting to convince her patron to have them moved to one of his planetside houses. Time was running out as Zenana will only keep children for so long before sending the child off to be raised in military schools and trained to become soldiers of the Empire. That is, if the father didn’t have other plans for the child. 

The woman would have to be very convincing as their daughter, though a pretty little girl, inherited her mother’s non-Galra yellow skin, bright blue eyes, and clawless hands. She had the cute kittenish ears though and teeth, but to any full blooded Galra, it wouldn’t be enough. If she had been born purple or even blue, then yes, perhaps the matter would have already been settled in their favor.

The mother recognized me and brought her daughter over by the hand. “Can you watch her, please? I must speak with her fath - with my patron.” 

“Yes, sure, go ahead,” I folded my legs so I could lay Reshi on my bended knee and support his bottle with one hand and held out my other to the girl. The chairs were wide enough for me to sit comfortable with plenty of space to spare. Galra must love wide chairs. 

Relieved, the woman lifted the girl onto my other knee and thanked me before hurrying away. The girl had a tablet in her hands set to a children’s game of moving shapes and colors. She was content to entertain herself on my lap until she realized she was sharing space with an unwanted squatter when he had the audacity to nudge her elbow with his foot. She wrench around, shot Reshi a furious look, and then shoved at him.

“Stop that,” I said firmly. “He’s just a baby.”

“He’s touching me!” She whined shoving at him again.

“Now you’re touching him so you’re even. Play your game,” I said. 

I don’t know what it is about Galra babies, or kits and cubs, as they call them, but they have this scathing rivalry with each other, siblings or not. It’s like chicks in a nest where the elder and stronger siblings will force the younger and weaker siblings out of the nest to get all the food for themselves, to better their chances for survival. Galra children, even half-breeds, seemed to practiced the same mindset as they bedevil their smaller sibling to get toys, treats, and the parents or caretaker’s attention for themselves. In the children’s eyes, I was considered a distasteful caretaker as I refused to allow them to bully or harassed the smaller ones so the older ones tended to steer clear of me or play their mischief when I wasn’t looking.

Once Reshi finished his bottle, I flipped him onto his belly and jiggled him while patting his back. Though Galra children tended to retain their meals, I still held onto the habit of place a cloth beneath their chins or over my shoulder to catch any spit up. Instead, my efforts were rewarded by a loud, sour burp.

The toddler glance disgusted at him. “Gross!”

“He can’t help it,” I croon setting him up onto a knee with my hands supporting him under the arms. “He had gas in his tum-tum.” To show his appreciation for my speaking on his behalf, he made a soft purry chirrup. 

He leaned in my hands to peer at the girl’s tablet, his large ears twitching at the pings and warbles. I tried to keep him back, but when a Galra kit was interested in something, there was little means to dissuade him. His claws caught my skin was he made his way towards the source of his curiosity and smacked an open paw-hand across the screen like a kitten batting at a string.

The girl shrieked, no more offended than if he had spat on her, and clouted him on the head between the ears. “Get ‘way!”

“Don’t hit him,” I barked hefting the infant onto my other knee, well out of reach of more blows. I checked him over and he didn’t seem none the worse for wear, still doggedly leaning towards the tablet despite my hand on his chest.

The girl gave a high pitch growl as she wrench the tablet away, hunching her shoulders to block his view. However, not to be deterred, the infant wriggled out of my grasp and grabbed her shoulder to support his weight to see. I caught her hand just as she swung it at him and gave her a sharp pinch on her upper arm.

“Do not hit him,” I said again as she winced. “He’s just curious and he’s not hurting you. Let him watch and I’ll keep him from touching your game.”

She glowered at me and I harden my face until she turned away back to her game, scowling. I perched him next to her so he can see, but I held his inquisitive hands and there was no more outbursts and hitting anyone over the head.

I let myself imagine that I would have had to deal with similar situations if I had another child with Devin. Would Connor have such sibling rivalry with a brother or a sister? Would I have intervened between such fights? I would never find out.

***

It had taken a bit longer than an hour, but I made it to the laundry room, though I had to take a detour.

After the mother returned to reclaim her daughter, tearful, I handed off the infant to her and departed the nursery. I went down to the third level where menial labor was performed such as laundry, cooking, cleaning supplies were stored, and sentries were kept. And where the guards like to hangout during their off duty hours. 

I wasn’t worried about the guards. They weren't allowed to touch us, though I have seen some courtesans flirt with them and even sneak off to areas out of sight of security cameras. I’ve been leered at and undressed with eyes, but none of them have ever approached me. No, the guards wouldn’t bother me, but there was still one I avoided. I spied him from around a corner chatting with some fellows. I backed up and took the long way around. I was feeling better today and dealing with Takor would only sour my good mood. 

The laundry room was white with piles of folded sheets and clothing hung up to later be taken to the dressing rooms. She was perched on a stack of sheets as naked as the day she was born (or hatched?). There was a bottle of wine near her ankle, she likely smuggled it from the dining hall. 

“You kept me waiting,” she said rising to her feet. 

“I’m sorry,” I said feeling the puff of air from the closing doors blow across the back of my arms. I took off my shirt, my nipples were already getting hard. 

She ran her hands up my sides and towards my breasts. “You’ll make it up to me?”

I kissed her and tasted the wine that still clung to her tongue. 

***

When courtesans weren’t at each other’s throats, they can be companions, or lovers. In most cases, it’s friendship or camaraderie with ones that you find least threatening to your position. There are a few that become more than just friendship. Not romance, but a sexual relationship nonetheless. 

Though courtesans are encouraged to get along, lest we shred each other to pieces and ruin our bodies before the patrons get their chance, romance or sex among us is strongly discouraged. They wanted our affections reserved for the guests, which made it all the more tempting, a means to rebel or thumb our noses at the staff and Madame Flo.

I didn’t love the girl in my arms and nor did she love me. I’ve seen her flitting to and fro between lovers and it was now my turn, I supposed. One evening, as I was returning to my room, she sidle close to me and took my hand and asked if I wished to come away with her to an empty room for a few minutes. Those few minutes turned into a few hours. 

Soon, like a bee, she’ll buzz toward another lover once she tires of me. I wondered if her casual promiscuous nature was cultural, her personality, or did Zenana made her this way. I wasn’t curious enough to find out. Her leaving would sting a little, but not hurt as eventually I’ll be approached by another. She’s not my first lover within Zenana and nor will she be my last. 

“You were in the nursery,” she said later while we lay together on the sheets we had spread out for comfort. She had one wrapped around herself, leaving one apricot size breast bare. 

I rolled towards her, surprised. “How do you know where I’ve been?”

I was beginning to suspect that her affections towards me was more than I had believed and she had someone follow me, but she smiled and tapped her nose. “I can smell milk and children on your skin. I have no idea how your kind can live with such a poor sense of smell.”

“We manage well enough,” I said laying a hand across her shoulder. I wasn’t ready to return to my room yet, and I didn’t think she did either. I drew her close and kissed her. 

Before I came to Zenana, I was heterosexual. Women in my life were friends, family, acquaintances, or rivals, not lovers. The idea of being with another woman was as foreign to me as having a tail or wings. My time in Zenana changed that. I still like men, in fact, I prefer them, but now my door opened for women too.

“If you like children so much,” she whispered into my ear before taking it between her teeth. A soft moan left my lips as electrical thrills crawled down my neck. She let it go with a soft smack and whispered, “maybe you should ask one of your patrons to fatten you up with child.”

A shiver crawled down my back, throwing cold water on the heat in my lions. It hadn’t been one month since the abortion. Twice I’ve become pregnant since arriving in Zenana and both times the pregnancies were aborted because the fathers didn’t wish for half Galra children. 

“None of them are interested in children,” I murmured pushing her onto her back. I lowered my face to her bosom, pressing my open mouth against one of her breasts. Her skin had the texture of rose petals and smelled of honey. Long fingers with dark nails curled in my hair as she moved beneath me, her legs opening.

“Kiss me . . .” she pleaded, her eyes glowing at me. 

And I did. I dipped my face between her thighs, trailing soft kisses as I went. She was still moist from our previous joining and her hot flesh parted beneath my lips. The sheets whispered as she slid her heels over them. Her hips rose to meet me and the grasp on my hair tighten, almost painful. My hands slid along her inner thighs, keeping her open, accessible for me. Her body quivered before she convulsed with high pitch whimpers before hot honey dribbled over my lips and tongue. I rose, wiping my mouth on a corner of a sheet. She lay sprawl beneath me, her arms languid above her head, looking like a nymph from a grecian myth.

I leaned over her and kissed her again. She looped her arms over my shoulders, drawing me down atop of her. Her body felt small and fragile beneath mine and I wondered if this how I Galra received me when they were on top of me. 

“Shall I ‘kiss’ you?” She asked. 

I considered it, but shook my head. “I have an appointment with a patron.”

She sighed, toying with my hair before giving me a quick kiss across the lips. “Perhaps later?”

“Maybe,” I said.

There was no later. By the time I saw her again, she had already been taken off Zenana by a patron that requested she accompany him during a month long tour of new colonized planets. When she returned, I was already with a new companion and she quickly found a new lover. She blew me a kiss from across the dining hall and I gave her a wink.

***

I took a long shower in my room, taking the time to wash my hair and between my legs. Though this patron tended to use me like a comfort blanket, to sleep and cuddle with to de-stress, but sometimes he wanted sex. If he did, it wouldn’t do for him smell another’s scent. Some Galra would find it a turn on, but others are a bit possessive so I didn’t take that chance. 

Since I’m just a bed companion this time, I’m permitted to prepare myself without going to the salon. I dry and brushed my hair until my curls fell over my shoulders. The gown I slipped on was white with black trimming and hugged my at the front and hips. It was thin material, almost weightless, and very comfortable to sleep in I have to admit. There was no need for makeup or jewelry, so I only washed and moisturize my face and neck. After dabbing some soothing scented oil on throat, my shoulders, between my breasts, and thighs I left the apartment, foregoing shoes. I wouldn’t need them.

There were levels with suites for patrons to stay during their time in Zenana. Most rooms are adjusted to the patron’s tastes upon their arrival and some patrons, the wealthier celebrated ones, have their own rooms reserved for their frequent visits. My patron was of the latter, he styled his room in dark blues with comfortable furniture and a large bed with the softest velvety sheets. He wasn’t much for decor, but then he didn’t come to Zenana to stare in admiration of his own room, but to rest and catch up on sleep he couldn’t get while on duty. 

I knocked on the door and waited. Five minutes passed and I kept waiting. I was here on time, but it was his time. If he wanted me to wait out here for the duration of our time together, then I would stay outside until I was allowed to return to my room. After ten minutes, the door opened and I was beckoned inside. 

He reminded me of a fox with triangular black ears and a thin face. He was average Galra height with long bones and corded with muscle. The fur on his shoulders was thick making it seemed he was hunched forward with bristled fur, making it seemed he had huge shoulders and the fur between his ears was matted with sweat and ragged from being ruffled over and over. It was a nervous habit he had whenever he was stressed and being an insomniac didn’t help either.

He didn’t speak to me unless he had to, most visits we never utter a word to each other. At first, I suspected that he didn’t see a reason to speak to slaves or courtesans, but then I realized he was a man of few words, even more so when he was stressed out. The lights were already dimmed and he was naked, but still sheathed. Military Galra didn’t bother with sleepwear, instead going with just underwear or without. 

I liked how straightforward he was. If he wanted me to brush him, he pushed a brush into my hands and laid down. If he wanted me to lay down, he simple lifted me up and tuck me into bed as if I were a child. And if he wanted sex, he simply undressed me. Tonight, he slid me beneath the sheets with him, the bed barely shifting under his added weight. Usually, he had a hard time deciding how he wanted to sleep. He would fidget and roll, trying all positions and shoving and pulling me as if I were a teddy bear, and it would some time before he decided, despite how tired he was.

Flipping and rolling me until I was almost nausea, and finally he chose to have me on my back and lay across me with his head on my shoulder. Claw tips, thin and dark, drew little white circles on my arm. They were usually curious about my skin, especially the furry ones. They liked to touch, scratch, lick, and taste it. Lotion and oil was provided for them so they could watch my flesh absorb it and enjoy the erotic sensation of rubbing naked skin. He nipped the edges of my collar bone, tonguing the spot, then finally took a deep encompassing breath that swelled his chest, almost pushing me down into the mattress. He let it go in a long, long sigh and he melted, all tension leaving his body, eyes closing for the night. 

Taking my cue, I made soft crooning noises, rubbing the back of his neck and shoulders. My fingers sank into the thick fur, combing it, tracing the musculature beneath it. I felt the flutter of his brows on my neck and the gentle ghosting of his breath. A deep thrumm, roiled through me like electricity, eliciting a deep pleasure. 

He told me once, in one of the rare instances he deemed it appropriate to speak to me, that he found sleeping with me soothing, almost healing. “As if I was sleeping in my mother’s arms again.”

I had bitten my tongue to keep from saying, “Did you occasionally have sex with her too?” Instead I said the generic spoon feeding Zenana line, “I’m happy that I’ve pleased you.”

Sometimes I dream. Nonsensical dreams that people have such has walking through a garden or building, trying to find something and not know what was lost, or being someone else. The ones that haunt me of the memories, where I’m home, safe, with Devin and Connor . . .I don’t see Connor, but I know he’s in the next room sleeping, within a few steps’ reach. Connor is different now, no longer the nine month old taken from my arms. I see Devin, but we don’t speak, we move about our house as if were in participating in a silent play, miming washing dishes, cleaning the table, or mopping the floor. I don’t remember gathering the dishes nor collecting the mop, but instantly move from the sink to the floor with mop in hand. 

Devin wears different clothes, some I recognize as his casual clothes and the ones he wore to work. Sometimes he wears the prison garb he died in. Sometimes, the back of skull is a bloody hole where brain matter and bone peek through the red. 

I jerked awake and found I couldn’t breath. Fur covered my face, it was in my mouth and blocked my nostrils. Oh God, I was back there again in the cell with Prorok and he had fallen asleep on top of me again, uncaring he was crushing me beneath him. I turned my head and found air, my mouth open, gulping air as I would water. Once I caught my breath and my eyes adjusted, I could see I was not in the cell and nor was the Galra sleeping atop of me Prorok and he wasn’t crushing me. I had turned my face into his shoulder and the fur there had blocked my air passages. He was still asleep, undisturbed with a slight burble of a purr whistling through his nose. 

Turning my head to the side, I take slow breaths to calm my heart and felt the sweat turn cold on my skin. The room was still dim, the only light was from the power light on the terminal. Each of the rooms had one so visitors had exonet access and could do some work or send messages. It was keyed into Galra DNA, useless to me or any courtesan. The clock on the bedside table told me that I had only slept for a couple of hours. 

I could use more hours of sleep, but then I didn’t want to dream again. I didn’t want to see Devin again. I moved my thoughts to other things, the books I’m currently reading, the next patron I would visit, and perhaps I would see my green companion again soon. 

I thought of my last lover, one with fiery red hair who began courting me as suddenly as my green lover. It had been one of those days when I didn’t want to stay in my room and went into a recreational room to read quietly until my appointment with a patron when he hopped over the back of the couch and landed beside me, jostling me on the cushions. He slung an arm around my neck and thrust his mouth to mine. 

He was the size as me with brilliant red hair, brighter than mine and stuck up at angles, like flames. His skin was a glossy yellow, smooth, but with a leathery texture. His eyes were as red as his eyes with dark irises with a coppery inner ring and his teeth were sharp, flashing whenever he spoke and beamed when he smiled of which he did often. When he finished the kiss, he told me that we should see each other because my red hair reminded him of his people, scattered across the universe after the Galra had destroyed their home planet. The last of his kind he had seen had been his own mother, not passed away.

I had never been pursued so aggressively, even Takor had used subtle and underhanded means. Before Zenana, I would have been offended by such forward behavior, but in Zenana, he intrigued me. Most of the male courtesans all carried a quiet calm trait, they spoke in low voices, had impeccable manners, and moved with gentle slowness. This one spoke loud and fast, like a child at play and he had the mannerisms of a rebellious youth, freely rolling his eyes when he heard something annoying or even cursing when something disagreeable happened. Most astonishing of all, was he insulted his patrons openly, a most forbidden act, and took his punishments with a casual sigh and shrug. 

Thinking he was a new arrival, I expected him to be tossed out of Zenana within days of meeting him, and I was astonished to learn he had been here for decades. I was even warned not to associate with him lest some of his inclinations rubbed off on me, but I found him refreshing, like cool water in a desert. He didn’t care about the carefully crafted social structure of Zenana nor did he mind his behavior.

I actually had fun with him for nearly a month. He was the first lover I had allowed into my room and I could share pleasant memories and stories with. It was spending time with Devin again, back in the early days of our dating when we were getting to know each other. Then it ended quite suddenly.

He said being around me made him sad. 

“Being here is dismal enough, but being around you makes me want to weep.”

I missed him for a short while after he broke it off, but I moved on. I still see him sometimes, flirting casually with patrons and befriending the other courtesans. He still nodded in my direction when he saw me and I amicably waved at him.

Like my green companion, we didn’t love each other.

I drifted off to sleep and this time I didn’t wake up with a face full of fur. Instead, warm moisture slipped across my cheek and ear. The rough pads of a large palm cupped the side of my face, pressing my face against his mouth. My eye closed just as his tongue passed over my lid and brow. Was he being affectionate or aroused? Sometimes, with Galra, it's hard to tell the difference.

Sharp teeth pricked the soft skin of my throat as he suckled the flesh. The fabric of the gown was slid up my body, taking away the thin barrier between his fur and my skin. Turning my head to the side, to breath freely, I opened my legs accommodatingly. It lasted a few minutes. He wanted a quick release, with no holding back or slowing to make it last. His breathing was rough, his chest hitching against my ear, and I smelled his sweat, musky, deep beneath his fur. With several almost painful jabs, he gave a throaty groan and sagged onto his elbows before obligingly rolling off me to keep from crushing me. 

Sweet pleasure pulsed between my legs and I was left unsatisfied when he resumed nuzzling me, giving me a few more licks across my cheek and then settled again, content to sleep more. I too went back to sleep, despite the slippery wetness between my thighs that wanted my own attention to it. Perhaps my green companion would give me a ‘kiss’ later. (She was already gone by the time I left my patron’s room, so my own pleasure went unanswered).

***

I went back to my room. After an extended stay with a patron, I was allowed another resting period. Since I had already slept I spent that time bathing and reading. Sometimes, I watch the entertainment vids, but found them boring after a while. In the beginning, it had been intriguing to watch alien television, but it was just propaganda, mostly praising the Commanders successes while omitting any losses, demonizing alien races, and revering the Emperor. I usually used it for background noise when I did exercises or brushing my hair. 

But I don’t brush my hair, nor exercise, instead I reach into a drawer and take out a tablet. Being a higher tier courtesan, I was allowed my own tablet, but this one was different from the issues ones which only allow reading books and watching the entertainment channels, but this allowed me to send messages. I sat cross legged on the bed and with a stylus sketched the Galra sigils I memorised from when I peeked at my patron’s tablet while he was showering. I can’t read the Galran language, but I can memorise and draw their sigils and numbers. Sometimes I can recognize a name or two while the rest of it eluded me. 

Once I finished sketching what I had seen, I sent it off to those who could read it and make use of the information. With satisfaction that was denied me before, I gently laid the tablet back into the drawer and laid down on the bed with my hands folded on my stomach and my ankles crossed as if I was resting from a day of housework. I allowed myself a few moments of reflection, a risky business as it could lead me down a dark path towards an emotional pit. 

This was my life. I’m living in space serving as a high class concubine for a race of mean purple aliens. I live with aliens, eat with aliens, and have sex with aliens. I also serve as a sort of cuddle partner or comfort doll for the aliens who have trouble sleeping or whose mothers stopped coddling them when they are young to toughen them for a military life. In the space of a year, I had a husband, a baby, a good home, survived an alien invasion, and endured under their rule until the night came when my husband was killed, my baby taken from me, and I was brought here. And what led up to that terrible night was another story I rather not think of at this moment. I pulled myself from the edge of the pit lest I fall in an mope through several days of depression. 

My red hair lover had said I made him sad. He had said any genuine smiles I made are rare, unless I’m holding a baby. Since he couldn’t give me a baby, then, echoing my green lover, ask one of my patrons to give me one. Oh, but one thing they both overlook, what Galra love to do was take, take, take. The only gifts they give are bait to lure you in closer so they can take more from you than what they had given. They have taken planets, resources, lives, freedom, and anything else they consider worthwhile to have. They had already taken one baby from my arms and murdered several in my womb. Babies were another commodity, a means of control and domination, another thing to have and take. 

I sat up abruptly and stalk to the terminal to switch on an entertainment channel. I was perilously close to the emotional pit and I needed the distract, even if it was just propaganda. 

As I pass my dresser with a large round mirror. I try not to look in at myself. I seeing myself, not because I would see something out of place like gray hairs, wrinkles, or weight gain, but see the ugliness that seeped into my skin. Zenana was like a flower, a carnivorous flower that smelled sweet and beautiful to lure and trap its prey. It dissolves the prey with a sickly sugary poison for ingestion. That’s what we are, the courtesans and I, we’re insects caught in the belly of a carnivore.

But I will be the prey that chews at the inside of the beast’s belly. I may not be able to kill it, but I can make it suffer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr either my muse RP blog: rebelcourtesan  
> Or on my writing blog: gapspace


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